


Where We Land

by Mordhena



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, BDSM, Castiel is dead, Complex relationships, Crowley is dead, D/s, Declarations Of Love, Dominance and Submission, Five Stages of Grief, M/M, Memory Loss, Past Relationship(s), Past Relationships, Sam in Hell, Soulless Sam Winchester, Unexplored Feelings, confronting the past, post season 12
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-11-06 10:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 43,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11034180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Mordhena
Summary: Was previously titled Back Where We BelongWARNING!! MAJOR, MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 12x23 in this story, particularly in the first chapter!What if, when Sam jumped into hell with Michael, Dean didn't go to live with Lisa and Ben?What if, he made a home with someone else entirely?And what if, when Sam came back soulless, they both lived with this other person for a time, but then left after Sam recovered his soul?What if Crowley used magic to wipe the mindsof the people Sam and Dean had been with?And,what if Crowley diedand his magic died with him?Well...That's the premise for this story. Is that too spoilery?The title is a working title and may change... or not.OH! and the tagged Major Character Death/s have already occurred in canon, so be warned if you haven't seen the finale!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haggitha](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Haggitha).



> Where We Land Lyrics
> 
> Treat me beneath this clear night sky  
> And I will lie with you  
> I start to feel those butterflies  
> When I'm next to you
> 
> Tell me your secrets  
> Give me a friend  
> Let all the good times flood in  
> Do I love you?  
> Do I hate you?  
> I can't make up my mind  
> So let's freefall  
> See where we land
> 
> It's been this way since we were young  
> We'll fight and then make up  
> I'll breathe your air into my lungs  
> When I feel your touch
> 
> Tell me your secrets  
> Give me a friend  
> Let all the good times flood in  
> Do I love you?  
> Do I hate you?  
> I can't make up my mind  
> So let's freefall  
> And see where we land
> 
> Songwriters: Amy Wadge / Ed Sheeran
> 
> Where We Land lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
> 
> [Where We Land, Ed Sheeran](https://youtu.be/MV0OzHjMimc)

Five weeks had passed since the birth of the Nephilim. Jack. As Kelly had named it. Whatever it was called, it was in the wind.

Sam had caught a fleeting glimpse of the creature at the house before it took off. Even now, he couldn’t describe exactly what he saw. Whenever Dean asked, he would shrug and say it looked human, maybe, but it was hard to tell because it ‘bent the air.’

Dean didn’t understand what that meant, and Sam couldn’t explain it. Just that he wasn’t able to look directly at the thing, because…well it was there, and it wasn’t. Kind of like how in low lighting, you might see an object in your periphery, but if you look right at it, it’s not there. Dean had to accept that as the best he was going to get.

They’d buried Cas. Not a hunter’s funeral. They didn’t burn the vessel in case… Dean’s mind shied away from the angel’s death. He couldn’t look at it too closely.

Hell, Sam had even insisted on holding a memorial for Crowley and, yeah, Dean supposed they owed him that much. The demon had sacrificed himself, to trap Lucifer and that was no small thing.

In the weeks since the whole deal went down, Sam and Dean had spent their time calling, and in many cases, physically checking in with the hunters who are left. Garth Fitzerald, Donna Hanscomb, Claire Novak—that one had been hard—Walt and Roy, the stupid Ghost Facers.

Some were dead. Others, hard to find, not surprisingly.

Now, they were headed back to Sioux Falls, to Jody Miller’s house.

By mutual and unspoken agreement, Sam and Dean have not been back to their bunker. Dean doesn’t know if he ever could return. Sam simply hasn’t mentioned it.

There’s a lot that they don’t mention, lately.

The road had become home again. It felt safer, somehow.

Dean turned the Impala in at Jody’s gate. Her police SUV was parked out front. Alongside it, a large, black truck of the kind favored by hunters. Dean didn’t recognize the license plate. He exchanged a glance with Sam who gave a small shake of his head, a shrug.

Dean parked beside the sheriff’s truck and he and Sam climbed out. Dean stretched, easing the long miles out of his muscles. Sam walked up to the door and knocked before letting himself in. After a glance around the area, born of long habit, Dean followed his brother inside.

They found Jody sitting at her dining table, a guy with his back to them, seated opposite. Jody clasped a mug of coffee between her hands. She stood up when they entered., came to greet them both with a hug.

“Hey! Good to see you, boys!”

Dean nodded. For a moment, he couldn’t find his voice. It was good to see her, too, He tried to get that across with his look. Sam murmured something inaudible as Jody pulled him into her arms.

Greetings done, Jody stepped back and looked them both over. “You look good,” she said.

That was a lie, but Dean let it slide. He glanced at Jody’s guest who had got to his feet and stood to one side, watching them. Deans’s blood ran cold, and then hot and then cold again as a flash of recognition washed over him. He glanced at his brother. The same dawning recognition was reflected in Sam’s expression for a flicker of a moment and then covered. If nothing else, both Winchesters could affect a good poker face. Jody didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss. She took a half step back and turned towards her guest.

“You boys’ve been hounding me for weeks to look up any hunters I know that you haven’t met,” she said. “I’d like to introduce you to the best vampire hunter I know. Sam, Dean, this is Malcolm Quinn. Malcolm, Sam and Dean Winchester.”

The man came toward them. Dean took an involuntary half step back. His mind reeled. He shot Sam another look, saw his brother brace for the meeting.

“Boys,” The man said, extending a hand to Dean. “S’a pleasure to meet y’both. I’ve heard a lot about you Winchester’s over the years.” He smiled. “I met _John_ Winchester once, on a hunt right here in South Dakota. He never mentioned having kids.”

His voice was slightly accented, with a hint of a southern drawl. He was tall, only an inch or two shy of Sam’s height. Solidly built with dark hair that just brushed his collar. His skin tone suggested Native American blood somewhere in his lineage. It was his eyes that captured Dean. Dark blue irises drew a stark contrast to his coloring. Those eyes had been what first arrested Dean, back when… Dean shook himself as Malcolm’s welcoming smile began to falter. He took the man’s hand, shook it briefly.

“Si—Malcolm,” Dean said. “Pleased to meet you.” A quick glance at Jody showed him the sheriff’s confusion.

“Do you guys know each other?” She asked.

“No.” Dean shook his head, noting the slight deepening of the woman’s frown. He let go of Malcolm’s hand and turned away. “I’m…gonna get our gear from the car. Sam, you wanna give me a hand?”

Jody chuckled. “You guys start toting luggage since the last time I saw you?” She sobered at Dean’s speaking glance.

Sam followed Dean out to the car.

Once outside and out of earshot from the house, Dean turned to Sam. “Fuck! That’s _him!_ That’s…”

“Malcolm. The guy you lived with when I was…gone,” Sam said.

Dean nodded. “I… I swear, Sammy, I didn’t know he was gonna be here. You know that when we left him, that was it. I mean, Crowley wiped his memory for fuck’s sakes. He… I don’t think he knows us. What do you think?”

Sam shook his head. “He didn’t seem to. Dean, calm down. This isn’t…”

“But he’s not even supposed to be a hunter! What the fuck happened? Why’s Jody know him? Shouldn’t everyone have…”

Sam frowns, lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know, Dean. But there’s no need to panic. Why are you getting so worked up?”

“Because… He was out, Sam! He was free and…” Dean turned away, pressed the palm of one hand to his forehead. “And he doesn’t need to get tangled up with us—me—again.”

“Dean, I think you’re overreacting. The guy doesn’t even know who you are. Chill out. We can handle this.”

“I think we should hit the road.”

“Don’t be an idiot! What’s Jody going think? We only just got here and now you want to run out?”

Dean scowled. “I’m not running out, I just…”

“You’re running out, Dean, and you’re letting everything that’s happened lately influence you. Let’s have a drink, take a breath, and work out what to do in a rational manner. We’ve been on the road all day. You’re tired. I’m tired.”

Dean sighed. His shoulders drooped in defeat. “Okay,” he relented. “But we hit the road first thing.”

“If that’s what you want,” Sam said. “Now, let’s get our stuff. I want a shower and a change of clothes.”

 

~~C C C~~

 

 

Malcolm Quinn lay on the bed in the guest room, fully clothed and wide awake. He’d just hung up the phone after face-time with Fox. He should be relaxed and ready to sleep, but he’s not. His mind keeps pulling him back to the two hunters that Jodi introduced him to earlier that night.

Malcolm cannot deny they’re probably two of the most beautiful men he’s ever met, besides his own boy.

Light and dark, day and night, danger and confidence.

Dean was coiled strength, like a basking rattle snake. Looks innocent, but packs a strike of deadly intent when provoked.

Sam… Well, Sam was more like a Summer storm. Powerful and potentially destructive.

Malcolm scoffed at himself and rolled over. “C’mon, Quinn, think you’re some kinda poet, now?” He closed his eyes, determined to sleep.

But something nagged at the back of his mind and wouldn’t let him rest. Something important. A feeling he got sometimes on a hunt when he’d missed a blindingly obvious clue. Malcolm couldn’t put his finger on what. He rolled to his other side, punched his pillow. He growled under his breath. Then with a muttered curse, he got up and paced to the door. Maybe a nightcap would help him wind down.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. A dim table lamp glowed in the living room and one of the armchairs was occupied.

Malcolm paused in the doorway, cleared his throat.

Dean Winchester turned to look at him. He didn’t seem pleased by the interruption.

Malcolm passed his tongue across his lips. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said. He frowned. He shouldn’t feel the need to explain himself. “Mind if I join ya?” He indicated the bottle of Jack on the table in front of Dean.

The hunter shrugged. Malcolm took it as a yes. He stepped into the room, picked up the bottle, grabbed a glass off a side table and poured himself a double.

Malcolm wasn’t a hard drinker, as a rule, but he tossed the drink back and poured a chaser before he took a seat opposite Dean.

I heard about some of what went down out there. Woulda lent a hand if I’d been asked.” He waved Dean’s response off. “No, not your fault. Jody didn’t think of me until late in the game. I…don’t hunt a lot these days. Not since my…since Fox got busted up pretty bad hunting a Wendigo couple years back.” He glanced up at Dean’s intake of breath.

“Oh, he’s recovering fine. Was a near thing, though.” He studied Dean. Taking in the pallor and the genuine shock and concern in the other man’s eyes. “Part of the game, ain’t it? Pretty sure you two’ve taken your share of lickin’s.”

Dean nodded, licked his lips and downed his drink, reaching to pour another.

“You don’t say much,” Malcolm observed.

“Not a whole lot _to_ say,” Dean replied. “It’s been tough. We lost a lot of good people. A couple of friends. Our mother.” He fell silent staring into his glass.

Malcolm watched him. The kid had a poker face to rival a card sharp, but there were chinks in that armor plating. Tiny, but Malcolm could read them. “Sometimes, talking helps.”

“Rather not waste my breath.” Dean stood up. “Goodnight.” He walked out of the room, leaving Malcolm to stare after him in puzzled silence. _What’s your problem, boy? And who the hell are you? Why do I feel like I’m forgetting something real important where you’re concerned?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment or leave kudos if you like this story. It's the only way I have to know that it is worth continuing.


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning, Malcolm was nursing a sore head. Kind of sad that a guy his age could get a hangover from a few shots of Whiskey, but there it was. He’d given up drinking a long time ago. He guessed that made him a soft-touch where alcohol was concerned.

He shuffled into the kitchen to find Jody sipping coffee. She had her uniform on, pressed and crisp. Every inch the county sheriff. Malcolm smiled at her and headed for the coffee pot.

“You look like you got hit by a truck,” Jody observed.

“Good to see you too, Jo.” Malcolm took a mouthful of the hot liquid. “Y’got any Advil?”

She huffed a laugh and reached into a cabinet above the sink for the pain pills. Handing them over. “You know, apart from my Dad, you’re the only person I allow to call me Jo.”

“What, not even Sean?”

Jody chuckled. “ _He_ called me _ma’am!”_

“I don’t doubt it.” Malcolm popped a couple of Advil out of the foil and swallowed them down with a mouthful of hot coffee.

“You and Dean have a heart to heart last night?” Jody grinned at him over the rim of her coffee cup.

Malcolm snorted. “That boy’s got a bad case of needs a good paddling to mend his attitude.”

Coffee exploded through Jody’s nostrils. The sheriff cursed, grabbing a dish cloth to mop at the front of her uniform shirt. “Dammit, Malcolm!” She scowled at him, indicating the stained shirt. “Don’t talk like that. Those boys hear you, they’ll be gone a hundred miles before breakfast!”

“I pretty much doubt that.” Malcolm smiled. “You think I don’t know a sub when I see one?”

“Really? They never struck me as the type.”

“Well, Dean? Could be he’s a switch. But Sam. He’s a submissive, through and through.”

Jody blinked. “And you got all this in one very brief conversation last night?”

“How long have you known me, and known what I do, besides hunting? I can read a sub. The little tells. Posture, eye contact, what they say and what they leave unsaid. Dean nearly called me Sir the minute we met. Sam, kept his eyes lowered the whole time he was talkin' to me.” Malcolm sighed. “They remind me of someone... Dean especially. I just can't put my finger on...”

At that moment, Dean walked into the kitchen. His hair was tousled with sleep. He wore a t-shirt and shorts, looking as though he just rolled out of bed. He hesitated in the doorway. “Sorry. Didn’t think anyone’d be around.” He leveled a look at Jody. “Aren’t you late for work?” His eyes tracked over the coffee stained shirt.

Jody shrugged. “Hey, Dean. Coffee’s hot!”

Malcolm looked Dean over, liking what he saw. “C’mon in, Dean. We ain’t talkin’ ‘bout anything classified.”

Dean met his eyes for a moment, then dropped his gaze and shuffled to the coffee pot.

“You two sleep okay, honey?” Jody asked.

“Yeah, thanks. Sam's still out like a light.” Dean flicked a glance at Malcolm and then quickly turned his attention back to his coffee.

Malcolm watched the red stain of embarrassment creep up from Jody’s collar onto her face as she realized what she’d said. “Shit, Dean, I’m sorry!”

Dean shook his head. “It's okay. I doubt that there are many hunters who don’t know about Sammy and me. They might not _mention_ it, but it’s not much of a secret anymore.”

Malcolm hid a grin in his coffee cup. He liked Dean’s easy wit and the gentle teasing tone of his response. He passed his tongue across his lower lip, unable to resist a little teasing of his own. “So, you boys got some action happening?”

Just as Malcolm hoped he would, Dean spluttered in his coffee.  “Wh-what?!?

Malcolm affected an air of innocence “Leads? Hunts?”  He stifled a laugh at the look on Dean's face.

“Oh-uh... We're following up on a few things.”

Malcolm’s response to that was forestalled by Sam stumbling into the kitchen. He was all legs and arms and bed head. He reminded Malcolm of a half-broke yearling colt. Malcolm smiled a little, he could spend a lot of time looking at these boys.

“You’re an asshole, Dean,” Sam grumbled. “I can hardly walk after…”

Dean pointedly cleared his throat.

“Morning, honey,” Jody chirped.

Sam blushed, looking around. “Uh…uh, too many nights spent in the Impala these last few weeks... uh—soft bed—Dean, is that coffee?” Sam grabbed Dean’s mug and slurped from it.

“Yeah. _My_ coffee!”

“He always steal from you like that?” Malcolm asked.

Dean shrugged “Baby brother prerogative, I guess. He always ate the last cookie, the last bowl of Captain Cr...” Dean trailed off with a frown.

Sam took another gulp of coffee and handed the mug back to his brother.

Jody shook her head indulgently at them. “So, you two boys are here on a job?”

“Mostly just mopping up. We've been checking in with hunters, seeing who’s—Seeing if people are all right,” Dean said.

Malcolm nodded. “We've lost some fine men and women. Word is we got you two boys to thank for takin’ out most've them British a-holes.”

“Hey!” Jody cuffed Malcolm on the arm.  “I was there as well!”

“Keep your hair on, I know that!”

“No free ass, just ‘cause I’m a female.” She winced. “Pass! I meant, pass!”

Dean laughed, quickly turning it into a cough, when Jody narrowed a look on him.

Malcolm roared laughing, ignoring her glare until the sheriff gave him another punch in the arm. He sobered looking up to find Dean’s gaze fixed on him while a myriad of emotions chased each other across the man’s face.

Suddenly aware of Malcolm’s scrutiny, Dean turned away. “Hurry up and get breakfast, Sammy. We need to get on the road.”

Sam greeted that with a sigh. He turned to Malcolm. “Jody said you hunt vampires. Taken out any nests lately?”

Malcolm replied to Sam, but kept his attention on Dean’s back. “Vamps’ve been pretty quiet the past few months. One thing about them, they ain’t stupid. They knew about those Men of Letters long time before we did. Most’ve ‘em have gone to ground. Layin’ low.”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “Suppose that was something to be grateful for, with everything else that was on the loose.”

Malcolm wasn’t really paying attention to Sam. Dean was his focus. The older hunter had gone still and silent, tension leaching off of him in waves. Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “Dean?”

There was no reply. Dean’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. Malcolm saw the slight movement. He tried again, his voice a little firmer.

“Dean.”

“I'm gonna go shower.” Dean walked out of the room.

Malcolm wasn’t aware he had stood up, until he felt Jody’s restraining hand on his wrist. He glanced down. Shook his head at her. A silent conversation ensued, Jody frowning and narrowing her eyes, and Malcolm pressing his mouth into a firm line. After a moment, the sheriff removed her hand with a slight shake of her head.

“Why don’t you and I fix breakfast, Sam?” She said.

Sam nodded, his face pinched and strained as he glanced from Jody to Malcolm and back. “Yeah. Okay, yeah.”

Malcolm caught up with Dean just as he was about to close the bathroom door. “Have you got a problem with me?”

Dean met his eyes for less than half a second before looking away. “No. I’m… it’s been a rough few months. I’m just…”

“Tired, irritable, _rude_?”

Malcolm was pleased to see that Dean could blush _He has a conscience, at least._

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Dean said.

“Maybe you need a little downtime.”

“Right. What's that, again?”

“It's taking time to have breakfast and a half-decent conversation. And judging by the way Sam is walking, sittin’ in that old car ain't gonna be comfortable for a while.”

“That’s not really your business!”

“No, it's not, I agree. But considering what you boys _and_ Jo have just been through, a little rest would be a good thing.”

Dean didn’t reply, just turned his head and stared a thousand yards into nowhere.

Malcolm had seen that look in horses when they were on the edge of collapse from exhaustion. “Why don't you just cut yourself some slack, Dean?”

“Because... I can't.”

“Can't? Or won't!”

“I hafta look out for Sammy. I'm one of a few experienced hunters left. I... It’s not so easy to just take a day off in this game. You know that.” Dean looked up, and this time he held Malcolm’s gaze. “Maybe _you_ can. I don’t have that luxury.”

“A burned-out hunter ain't no good to anyone, boy! Now maybe I'm not _suggesting_ that you cool your heels for a few days. Maybe I'm _tellin’_ you.”

Dean closed his eyes. “Don’t get involved with me, Malcolm. Don’t…don’t _care._ Walk away.”

Malcolm blinked. “You don't get to tell me what to do, boy. I think it goes the other way ‘round.”

“No. It really doesn't. I'm not your _boy_. I'm not someone you can push around.” Dean moved to shut the door in Malcolm's face.

“Dammit!” Malcolm threw his weight forward, knocking Dean off balance and throwing the door against the wall. He strode into the bathroom. “You’re ready to drop with exhaustion, Dean! I saw it the moment I laid eyes on you and we have few enough boots on the ground.”

 

**~~C C C~~ **

****

Sam turned to look over his shoulder towards the bathroom at the sound of a crashing door and raised voices. He frowned, took a half-step towards the hallway but was blocked by Jody, who handed him a whisk and a mixing bowl filled with pancake batter.

“Could you just beat this for me, Sam?”

“Shouldn’t we go see what’s…”

“Nah.” Jody shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll be just fine.”

“You don’t know those two. Wouldn’t be the first time they’ve come to…” Sam clamped his jaw shut, staring at Jody in horror.

“I thought Dean said you don’t know each other?”

“We don’t.” Sam sighed. “At least, Malcolm doesn’t _remember_ us.”

“So, you _do_ know him? From when?”

“A few years back.” Sam stirred the pancake batter unenthusiastically as he spoke.

“I've talked about you boys to him a lot. He’s never once given a hint that... Did he have an accident or something?”

“Not exactly. I can’t tell you, Jody. I’m sorry. It…It’s a long, complicated story and it’s really not mine to tell.”

Jody let out an exasperated breath. “Fine.” She put down the spatula she had been using to tend to bacon and eggs. “I’m gonna be hell late for work and I need to change my shirt!” She left the kitchen.

Sam watched her go with a murmured, “Sorry.”

 

**~~C C C~~ **

 

Malcolm bit his tongue to restrain the anger that had begun a slow burn in the pit of his stomach. Dean was a stubborn, taciturn son of a bitch and it wasn’t fair that he had to be so goddamned gorgeous with it. “You seriously want to go toe to toe with me, Dean?”

Dean shook his head. “All I want, is to have a shower, eat, and get back to doin’ what I do.”

“Oh, you mean self-destructing, cutting, drinking too much?”

Dean looked up sharply, his face registering shock. “How’d you know—I don’t cut!”

Malcolm shook his head. “What?”

Dean backed away “Please, Malcolm. Leave it alone. Leave _me_ alone.”

A dull ache began somewhere at the base of Malcolm’s skull. He lifted a hand, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Dean, I…”

Sam’s voice cut him off, calling from the kitchen. “Dean? Malcolm? Breakfast.”

Malcolm let out a breath. “I guess we better go, you know how testy he can get.”

Dean stared at him for a long moment in silence. Malcolm saw him bite his lip before Dean spoke. “I just wanna wash up. Tell him I’ll be right out.”

“Sure.” Malcolm headed for the kitchen.

After Malcolm left, Dean turned on the tap over the vanity, letting the water run as he leaned both hands on the edge of the counter and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He still couldn’t fathom how Malcolm came to be here, a hunter and a hairs-breadth away from remembering who Sam and Dean are. Dean met his own eyes in the mirror. _We have to get as far away from him as we can, as soon as…_ He cut the thought off and bent to splash water on his face.

A few moments later, there was a cautious knock on the door and Sam let himself into the bathroom. “Dean? Are you okay?”

The room was wreathed in steam from the running tap. Dean leaned on the vanity, looking pale and defeated. “He’s remembering,” Dean said. “I don’t think he realizes anything, yet, but… he said some things.”

“He shouldn’t be, right?” Sam frowned.

“I don’t know. Maybe with Crowley gone…” Dean paused a moment. “You remember that witch we ganked a while back, with the Banes twins?”

“Yeah. What about her?”

“When she died, those dolls she made were destroyed.”

“You’re thinking Malcolm is getting his memory back, because Crowley’s not around to keep the magic in place.”

Dean gave a small nod. “It would make sense. Maybe if we’re not around to keep jogging his memory, he won’t…” Sam interrupted him.

“Dean, I know things got a bit complicated last time, but if it’s what you want we could…"

“No. I know you don’t want to go back there, Sam. It’s okay, we don’t have to. I moved on years ago, leaving him was for the best, then. It’s still for the best that we stay away now.”

“What I want is what's going to ma—”

“No. No, Sam. That's how we got in a mess before. It's not just about what makes _me_ happy!” Dean turned off the taps and wiped his face and hands with the guest towel. “C’mon. Let’s have breakfast and then get on the road.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean stood just inside the front door, Jody in front of him, half barring his exit. “We’ll keep in touch,” Dean said. “Don’t forget to check in with Garth every couple of weeks. There are still Men of Letters around. They might keep coming after hunters.”

Jody nodded and pulled Dean into a hug. “You two had better check in as well, do you hear?”

“We will.”

As Jody released Dean, Malcolm came down the hallway, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He nodded to Dean and then turned to Jody. “Thanks for the hospitality, Jo. I’ll be sure and keep in touch.” He turned to Dean, holding his gaze for a long moment. “Nice to meet you boys.”

 “You too, Sir,” Dean said without thinking. He ducked his head, avoiding Malcolm’s steady look. He was painfully aware of Jody looking from him to Malcolm with a puzzled frown, but he said nothing more.

“You two take care out there,” Malcolm said. “Watch your backs. If y’ever fancy some work taking out vamps…”

“We’ll call.” Dean lied.

Malcolm nodded and stepped out the front door.

“Dammit, Dean!  That’s it?” Jody said. “You’re just going to let him go?”

“What?”

Sam returned after putting their gear into the trunk. Jody turned to him. “Well?”

“Jody…” Sam began.

“Did you _tell_ her?!” Dean glared at his brother.

“No, I....  not in so many words. I kinda panicked when I thought you two might bust up the place. I mean it wouldn't be the first time you and Malcolm had more than a few heated words, Dean.”

Dean raised his eyes to heaven. “Great, Sam, just great,!” He turned to Jody. “With respect, Jody, it’s none of your business. I made the call three years ago to ‘just let him go.’ It wasn’t easy. It’s _not_ easy, but it’s done.”

“Right. You just keep telling yourself that, Dean Winchester. And take a good look in the mirror. That hang-dog expression on your face says otherwise.”

“You should understand better than anyone. As Crowley once said: people close to me have a tendency to wind up dead. He was right. Look at the honor roll. Fuck, even _Crowley_ wasn’t immune!” Dean turned to Sam. “C’mon.”

“Well, _I’m_ not dead, and Sam’s still here. People dying? That’s just the business we’re in, Dean. Malcolm Quinn is in the same business. Maybe _he’ll_ end up dead and maybe it’ll be because no one had his back! Did you ever stop to look at it that way?”

“Leave it, Jody!” Dean snapped. He turned on his heel and walked out of the house.

Sam sighed. “Jody, I'll check in next week, ok?”

Jody looked at Sam in a way that managed to be sad and annoyed at the same. “Talk to him, Sam. Make him see sense.”

Sam turned his head, his gaze tracking Dean across the yard to the Impala. “You know he won’t listen to me. Once Dean gets a notion into his head, there’s not much that’ll budge him, short of angelic intervention.” His expression darkened. “And we’re kind of short on that lately.”

Jody nodded with a soft huff of breath. “Stay safe, Sam.”

 

**~~C C C~~ **

 

So, he’d said his goodbyes and hit the road. That should have been it, Malcolm thought, but here he was, halfway along the turnpike headed for Arizona with Dean Winchester on his mind. He frowned, shook his head trying to dispel the nagging thoughts.

Suddenly, the car, the road, everything faded into background static as a sharp memory took center stage.

 

_Dean stands in the stable yard at Malcolm’s ranch, stroking the silky neck of a big bald-faced chestnut horse._

_“I’m gonna name him Rocky,” Dean says. “Because he’s awesome, like the Italian Stallion.”_

_Malcolm chuckles. “He’s a gelding, Dean.”_

_“But still awesome!” Dean grins at Malcolm and turns his attention back to the horse. “Rocky Balboa!”_

 

The blare of a horn jerked Malcolm back to the present and he wrenched the wheel, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a car-load of teenagers who whooped, jeered and flipped him off through the windows of their car.

Malcolm wrestled with his truck, but was too late to keep it off the crumbling dirt at the verge. His wheels lost purchase and the car fishtailed in a cloud of dust, skidding into the ditch at the side of the road where it came to a stop and the engine stalled.

“Goddamn it…” Malcolm pounded one hand against the wheel and then climbed out to inspect the damage. No way he’d get out of the ditch without a tow at the very least. Still cursing under his breath, he climbed the embankment back to the road, hoping to flag someone down.

He didn’t know whether to be pleased or to curse his luck when he saw the black Impala cruising towards him. Malcolm let out a resigned breath and stepped into the road, waving his arms above his head.

The Impala slowed, veered to the side, and pulled over. Dean stepped out.

“Something wrong?”

“Bunch o’ fool kids ran me off the road!” Malcolm growled, omitting the part about being distracted by thoughts of Dean. “I’m gonna need a tow to get my truck out of the ditch.”

Dean nodded, glanced back at Sam, who without a word headed to the trunk and returned with a length of rope.

Malcolm watched as Dean slid and skidded his way down the embankment and hunkered down next to the truck. After peering under it for a moment, Dean lay down on his back and wormed his way in under the front end.

“You’re not driving this thing anywhere today,” Dean’s muffled voice called a few seconds later. He scrambled out and stood up, brushing dirt and grass from his clothes as he climbed back up to Malcolm and Sam. “You’ve ruptured a shock absorber. I mean, you _could_ drive it to the nearest garage, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Well ain't that just crap-tastic!”

Dean glanced at Sam. “The Impala can't tow that thing any distance. Get on the phone to Garth, have him send out one of our local wreckers.” He turned to Malcolm. We can drive you back to Jody’s or wherever your truck gets towed to.”

Malcolm nodded but he didn’t seem to be completely present. Dean waited for a response. “Are _you_ okay?” Nothing. Dean frowned. “Sir—uh—Malcolm?”

Malcom looked at Dean. “That's the third time you’ve done that.”

“Done what?”

“Called me sir.”

“Oh.” Dean grinned. “Habit. Raised by an ex-marine.”

“Yeah.” Malcolm held Dean’s gaze for a long moment. “That must be it.”

“Uh…” Dean shifted his feet restlessly as he lowered his gaze. “Can we drop you someplace?”

“Could you drive me to Sioux Falls? I can call my… I’ll call Fox, to pick me up.”

“Fox...” Dean cast a glance at Sam. “Unusual name.”

“Well, it’s more of a nickname.” Malcolm smiled a little. “His folks christened him Andres, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone call him that. _I_ wouldn’t dare, for one. He hates it. Fox is from his surname, Cachorro.”

“That means little cub?” Sam put in and Malcolm nodded.

“Yeah. He says his _abuela_ called him Fox as a little kid and it kinda stuck.”

“You two are pretty close, huh?” Sam said.

“You might say that,” Malcolm replied. “He’s an orderly at the county general, but he’s also one hell of a hunter,” Malcolm replied.

“Nice to know we’ve still got some left,” Dean said.

“Mostly he's into research now since a nasty scrap with a Wendigo. Lost the sight in one eye.”

Sam made a sound of distress and Dean shot him a glance.

“Okay, Babe?”

Sam nodded, swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Fox… he loves all the lore and stuff. I never really got my head around that side of things. Used to call Bobby Singer for that.” Malcolm frowned. “Another damn good man down.”

Dean headed for the trunk of the impala. “I need a beer. Anyone else?” He opened the cooler and grabbed a bottle, automatically tossing another to Malcolm.

Sam looked pale and a little peaky. He walked over to the car, grabbed a water instead of beer from the cooler. He turned to Malcolm. “Did your friend... Was it just his eye?”

“He got roughed up pretty bad. Used to be a head nurse but ... shattered knee, and that thing took a lot of skin before Fox put it down.”  Malcolm shrugged, took a pull of his beer. “It's the life we lead.”

“Shit,” Dean muttered. “When? How long ago?”

“Must be two years, maybe three? Spent a year in therapy and a lot of skin grafting.”

Dean watched as his brother seemed to sag. Sam leaned heavily against the Impala’s rear fender.

 _None of that was ever supposed to happen to you, or to Fox._ Dean closed his eyes for a moment. _You were supposed to be out of the game, living some perfect apple pie life on your ranch. Safe. Crowley either lied to us, or…_

“Did you boys know Fox?  Sam seems kinda upset.”

“Sam’s worked with Fox. A while ago,” Dean said. He bit his lip, recalling a conversation with Castiel when he and Sam decided to leave Malcolm’s ranch.

_This is a bad idea, Dean. Magic. Messing around with people’s minds. You know damn well it can have consequences you can’t even imagine._

“Strange. I thought I knew everyone that Fox worked with. Just goes to show you… the world’s a smaller place than we reckon.”

Dean nodded, a dull ache settling in his heart. “Yeah.” He glanced up as a tow truck headed along the road towards them. “Well, here’s your tow.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Malcolm smiled into the phone. “No, really, I’m okay.” He glanced at the tow truck where the driver, with some help from Sam and Dean, was loading his SUV onto the tray. “The car’s a little messed up. I got out without a scratch.” He paused, listening. “I’m headed into Sioux Falls. I’m hoping their local shop can repair the damage. Any chance you can get over this way?”

Dean walked towards him. Malcolm acknowledged him with a small nod, but his attention was on Fox’s voice on the line. “You what?” He frowned. “When…how many?” He let out a breath. “Crap… Okay, keep me posted. I’ll try to get back as soon as I can.” Malcolm ended the call and turned to Dean.

“There’s been an attack on a group of campers in Arizona. Four dead. Authorities are callin’ it a ‘cult suicide.’”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “That’s a new one.”

“Yeah. I’m not buyin’ it, and neither’s Fox. Apparently, they were drained of blood, odd puncture wounds.”

“Vamps,” Dean said.

Malcolm nodded. “More’n likely. They’re resurfacing, I guess. Must’ve heard those British guys took a hit.”

“Your truck’s all loaded up. We might as well follow it into town,” Dean replied. “The sooner it’s  fixed, the sooner you can get back and clean them up.”

“I’m just gonna call Jody,” Malcolm said. “I don’t call, and she sees my truck comin’ into town on the back of that thing, she’s gonna tear me a new…”

Dean nodded and held up a hand. “Yeah, I hear you.” He walked back to the Impala. 

 _“Malcolm? Miss me already?”_ Jody chirped down the line.

“Yeah, you know I can’t go half a day without hearin’ your voice, sweetheart.” Malcolm chuckled and then he sobered. “Now, I don’t want you to worry none…”

_“What? What happened? Malcolm, are you okay?”_

“I’m fine, Jo. My car went into a ditch. You might wanna talk to some of the local kids about road safety.”

 _“Again?”_ Malcolm could almost hear Jody’s eye-roll. _“Those idjits. I swear I’m gonna get that kid’s license. And impound his damn car. I might even lock him up for good measure! Is there anything I can do? You need me to pick you up?”_

“Nah. Dean and Sam happened by. Truck’s being towed as we speak. I just didn’t want you worrying if you saw my truck on the back of a tilt-tray.”

Jody sighed. _“Okay. Thanks for calling. Dean and Sam okay?”_

“Apart from dog-tired, you mean?” Malcolm huffed a breath. “That pig-headed boy needs a good solid eight hours shut-eye.”

 _“You and_ I _know that,”_ Jody replied. _“We also know Dean copes by working.”_

“Isn’t he a mechanic?” Malcolm frowned, unsure how he even knew that piece of information. “Maybe I can get him to look at my truck. It’ll keep him off the road, and upside? It probably won’t try to kill him while he does it.”

 _“Good luck with that.”_ Jody chuckled. _“I’ll see if I can find you boys in town when I get off shift. Thanks for letting me know about the accident. I’ll follow up on those kids.”_

“Well, I know what a mother hen you c’n be.” Malcolm waved an acknowledgement to Dean who was giving him a wind-up signal. “Comin’,” he called, then spoke into the phone. “My ride’s getting’ a little antsy. Gotta go. You take care, Sheriff Mills.”

 _“You know me. Caution personified.”_ A pause. _“Malcolm? Go easy on him. One of those good people we lost was …  very special to Dean.”_

“I’ll tread softly, Jo. Word of honor.”

 

  ** ~~C C C~~**

****

Dean leaned his butt against the trunk of the Impala, huddled in on himself as though chilled despite the early summer morning’s warmth.

“You okay?” Sam said softly.

Dean leveled a telling glance at Sam. He shook his head and looked away, watching as Malcolm climbed into the Impala. He shivered, closed his eyes. _Cas? Can you hear me? Just… We’re in Sioux Falls. If you’re…if…_ With another shake of his head, Dean walked to the driver’s door and climbed in. He started the engine and pulled out onto the road.

“There’s a half-decent motel in town,” Malcolm said.

“You want me to drop you there?” Dean replied. “I mean, your friend—Fox—is gonna have a long drive getting to you. Unless…”

Sam cleared his throat. Dean glanced at him, puzzled by Sam’s warning expression and head-shake.

“I’m—uh—I mean, Golden Valley to Sioux Falls. Lotta miles.”

Sam groaned.

“You been doing some checkin’ up on me, Dean?” Malcolm chuckled. “I promise I’m who I say I am. I ain’t brainwashed Jody into thinking I’m a hunter, y’know.”

Realization of what he’d said dawned, and Dean winced. His hands tightened on the wheel. “Can’t be too careful,” he said.

“You’re right, though. It’ll take Fox a day. Maybe more if he gets stuck at work. He pulls a lot of shifts. When he’s not at work, he’s busy renovatin’ an old brownstone he bought last year. When he bought it there was no heat, and no ground floor to speak of. Kids had vandalized it. Used the floorboards as firewood one Halloween.”

Dean glanced at Sam, recalling the Fox they knew. He’d had a knack for renovating. Fox and Sam had even started to convert an old tack room in one of the barns into an apartment.

Sam frowned. “Fox doesn’t live with you at the ranch?”

“No…”

Dean exchanged a look with Sam, then caught Malcolm’s frown in the rear-view mirror.

“Fox has his own place in town. Near the hospital. We get together now and then and he’ll help out when the foalin’ comes around.”

Dean caught Malcolm’s eye in the mirror. “We used to be friends with a doctor out that way. Kalem Price mean anything to you?”

“I know _of_ him,” Malcolm replied. “He and I might move in some of the same circles. Can’t say I’m well acquainted though.”

Dean frowned. He shook his head. “None of this adds up,” he murmured.

“What doesn’t?” Malcolm asked.

“What?” Dean shook himself, realizing he must have spoken aloud. “Oh. Don’t mind me. I talk to myself when I’m distracted.”

“Seems so.”

They fell silent until they hit the main street of Sioux Falls. Dean drove past the Sheriff’s office and pulled into the parking lot of the motel. “Your stop,” he said.

“Appreciate the ride,” Malcolm said. “Let me buy you two boys some lunch before you take off.”

“I don’t think…” Dean began.

“That’d be great!” Sam cut in.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned to Sam, ready to tell him nineteen different reasons why stopping for lunch and a chat with Malcolm Quinn was not ‘great.’ He frowned, taking in the obvious strain in his brother’s features. Sam was almost out on his feet. Dean let out a breath, nodded. “Okay.”

Malcolm flashed a grin that made Dean’s heart do a backflip. “Excellent! A few hours off the road will do you boys good.” He glanced at Sam as he spoke and then gave Dean a pointed look. “You look like a shot of bourbon wouldn’t be amiss.”

“I guess I _could_ use a drink.”

“I’d prefer…” Sam said.

“Coffee?” Malcolm said. “There’s a nice little bistro, serves both. I’m just gonna book a room first, okay?” Malcolm climbed out of the car, answering a call on his phone as he crossed the parking lot.

Dean turned to Sam. “He’s not ‘well acquainted’ with Kalem? They were best buddies!”

Sam lets out a breath. “Yeah, well, who knows what kind of magic Crowley cooked up?”

“Cas tried to warn me, y’know? Told me right to my face it was a bad idea.”

“Dean, it wasn’t only your decision. I thought it was for the best as well, remember? We messed up their lives enough, what with me running around soulless and creating all kinds of…”

“Yeah, but we both thought, back then, they’d be out of this life.”

“We had no reason to think otherwise, Dean. We won’t accomplish anything by regretting it now.”

Dean looked away, seeing Malcolm heading towards the car. “I thought they’d have each other, at least. But this? It sounds like they hardly even…” He trailed off, noticing Malcolm’s expression. “Crap. I know that look. Something’s pissed him off.” He got out of the car. “Anything wrong?”

Malcolm tossed a motel key to Dean, who caught it reflexively.

“You boys said you wanna keep busy? Fox just called back with some more intel. We got vamps for sure. Two young couples bled dry. Figured you two might want in on the job.” He paused a moment. "Took the liberty of booking a room for you, too."

The brothers exchanged a look. Dean studied Sam’s features for a long moment, noting the tired resignation in Sam’s expression. Dean knew that Sam would hit the road again without an argument, if that’s what Dean decided. He gave a small shake of his head and turned to Malcolm. “Vamps, huh? Well if there’s anything I know about hunting those douches? You don’t come at it tired or hungry. If we do this, we do it right. Sam needs a break.” Dean almost felt the relief wash over Sam.

“Four people?” Sam asked. “Definitely more than one vampire, then. Where’d this happen?”

“A few miles east of Golden Valley. There are some pretty remote camping grounds out there. Seems those kids went out there, didn’t check back in with the ranger… you know the rest.”

“I’ll call Garth,” Dean said. “He might know more, what with the radio monitoring and the hunter’s grapevine. If he doesn’t know already. He likes to be kept in the loop.”

Sam took the motel room key from Dean. “I’m beat, gonna lie down a while.”

“Good idea,” Dean said. “We’ve got a long drive ahead.” He popped the lid of the trunk and grabbed their duffel bags.

“Why don’t you boys get settled, then come see me when you’re ready to eat?” Malcolm took his bag from the trunk and headed for the row of rooms. “If Sammy wants to sleep before eatin’, that’s fine, too.”

Dean followed him. “You’d better not let him hear you call him that.”

Malcolm glanced at him. “Call who what?”

“Sam. Sammy? S’kind of a family thing.”

“I kn…” Malcolm’s steps faltered. He stopped and turned to Dean. “Are you _sure_ we’ve never… Nah. Forget it. I must be confusing you with someone else.”

Dean shrugged. “People tell me I’m a lot like my dad. You’ve worked with him. Maybe it’s that.” He held Malcolm’s gaze as the man studied him.

The air between them seemed to shift and change, becoming charged with a familiar tension that made Dean bite his lip. He took a shuffling half-step toward Malcolm, their eyes locked to each other. “Malcolm…”

“Dean! You coming? I need my bag!”

Sam’s voice broke the spell and Dean stepped back.

“That’s my cue,” he said. He turned and headed for their room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta under_a_grey_cloud for the lightning fast turn around on this chapter and saving my ass from posting some fairly large mistakes.

Dean entered the motel room to the sound of the shower running. He frowned. Sam had showered no more than two hours ago.  _Kid’s a clean freak,_ Dean mused as he set their bags on the bed and checked out the minibar.

He grabbed a beer and a can of Pringles before flopping onto the bed. Sam came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, hips swathed in a towel, water still beading on his chest and shoulders. Dean stared for a moment, then scowled and sat up.

“You been putting arnica on those bruises?” The left side of Sam’s rib cage was a mass of blue, black and purple blotches. His right shoulder bore an angry black and red weal. When he turned his back to grab clean shorts, more bruising showed across his upper back.

“It’s fine, Dean.”

“My ass, it’s fine!” Dean jumped out of bed, set his beer on the bedside and rummaged through his duffel for the first aid kit. “Lie down. I’m gonna…”

“I said it’s fine!” Sam snapped.

Dean grabbed the jar of arnica gel from the bag. “And I say, lie the fuck down so I can take care of it.”

With a roll of his eyes and an irritated sigh, Sam did as he was told. “I’ve had bruises before,” he grumbled.

“You really don’t wanna piss me off right now.”

“It’s not my fault, Dean.”

“What’s not your fault?”

“Malcolm being here. All this…”

“I’m not blaming you, Sammy.” Dean tended to the bruises in order of severity. “It’s what it is.” He paused a moment. “D’you think Lucifer really killed Rowena?” A half-formed hope in the back of Dean’s mind speculated whether the witch had survived. If she had, then maybe she could find some way to bring back Cas. There had to be a spell in the Book of the Damned, right? His hope withered as Sam answered.

“Yeah, I think he did. She crossed him more than once, and he might’ve seen her as a threat.”

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. “Roll over. Lemme get your front.”

Sam turned onto his back, looking into Dean’s eyes. “I know you didn’t want to stop,” he said. “We could’ve…”

“No. I meant what I said. You don’t go after vamps when you’re half-asleep.” He smiled in reassurance. “I guess we’re stuck with him.”

“For what it’s worth, Dean, Malcolm’s a good hunter.” Sam’s lids drooped as Dean smoothed gel over the kick-mark from the recoil of a shotgun.

“Yeah. We can hope that hasn’t changed at least.” Dean smiled as Sam let out a tiny snore. He drew a coverlet over him and stood up, headed for the door. He stopped and glanced back at his sleeping brother. Even asleep, Sam looked bone tired, a small frown creasing his brow. With a sigh, Dean left the room, headed for Malcolm’s.

 

**~~C C C~~ **

 

Malcolm sat at the table, his laptop in front of him. The news blared headlines and details about the ‘Cult Suicide in Arizona Recreational Park.’ He heard a soft rap on the door. Dean stood framed in the doorway looking half inclined to bolt. Malcolm stepped back, waving him into the room. “C’min.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Dean would actually take off. He shuffled his feet, glanced back towards the room he shared with Sam. “Uh. I thought we were gonna go get something to eat?”

“We will, but I wanted you to check this out, first.” Malcolm gestured at the laptop. “They’re still sayin’ these kids were victims of some occult ritual gone wrong. It don’t add up. I’m pretty familiar with the cults and covens we’ve got around my area. Most of ‘em are harmless enough. Besides, the bleeding out story is all wrong. There wasn’t any blood found at the scene.”

Dean stepped inside and leaned on the table, reading the news feed. “At least they didn’t go with the wild animal mauling. If I had a dollar for every time…” He paused, ran a hand across the keyboard of the laptop. Dean seemed lost in studying the computer instead of the story.

“Dean?”

“Huh?” The hunter straightened up, turned to face Malcolm. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Nothin’ much, really, you seemed to zone out there for a minute.” Malcolm let out a breath. “I got a message from Fox. One of the benefits of his job. He was able to get into the morgue.” As Malcolm spoke, he pulled his phone from a pocket and opened the text app. “Sent me these.” He handed the phone to Dean.

The screen displayed photographs of the bodies. They didn’t show any identifying features. All that was visible were the perfectly neat fang marks in each victim’s neck.

“They took their time feeding,” Malcolm said. “Didn’t rip ‘em apart. No use trying the wild animal angle with these injuries.” He let out a breath. “Fox says there was no trace of blood on the bodies. Figures. If they were hungry. No waste.”

Dean swallowed hard, and closed the app. “Poor kids.”

“Well, that’s why we do what we do, right?”

“So, you think we’re looking at day walkers?”

“That far out? No cover, to speak of? I’m guessing so.”

“Damn. I  _hate_  walkers! They don’t rest. No element of surprise.”

“I hunted a son of a bitch for years,” Malcolm said. “Went by the name of Shiloh. Day walkers are the very devil to get a bead on.” He grinned. “See you’ve had the same issues.”

Dean nodded, his expression turned thoughtful. “We’ve run across some vampires who were… One in particular. Benny Lafitte. You may not believe it, but he was a friend. A walker, too. The only one I ever met that cared about his prey.”

“A friend, huh?” Malcolm quirked an eyebrow. “Well, takes all kinds I guess. Did you get him on pack-blood? I mean, lookin’ at you, I’m guessing you still have the standard eight pints.”

Dean sighed softly. “He tried. He tried real hard to resist. Did okay for a long while, but trouble found him. I had to… he asked me to put him down.”

“Hard,” Malcolm said. “But kinder in the long run.” He closed the lid of the laptop, took his phone from Dean. “Well, c’mon, boy. Let’s go get you some of that pie you love so much.” He strode towards the door, turning back to find Dean blinking at him in confusion. “What’re you waitin’ for? Food’s on me, remember?”

Dean seemed to gather himself from somewhere distant. He nodded and followed Malcolm out. “So, any word on how long your truck’s gonna be in the shop?”

“Not yet.” Malcolm stopped by the Impala, waited for Dean to get in and unlock the passenger door for him.

“If I had the parts, I could get her back on the road myself by morning.”

“I’d sure appreciate that. Don’t trust these small-town shops. I swear they pluck prices out of the sky.”

 

**~~C C C~~ **

 

Dean had been to the bistro before. Sioux Falls was not that big a town, and Sam and Dean had been coming since they were kids. First, to see Bobby, now because Jody lived there.

Malcolm led the way to a booth near the back. Dean positioned himself so that he could see the front entrance, and have a line on the doors to the kitchen as well; a strategic move that came naturally to him.  Malcolm sat opposite. Between them, they had a clear view of the entire room.

Malcolm smiled at their waitress. “We’ll have two of your special steak burgers, with extra onions for Dean, here. Two sides of fries.” He looked at Dean. “Drink?”

“Coffee, for now,” Dean said. “Leave the pot.”

“Good idea.” Malcolm settled back against the leather seat when the waitress departed. He studied Dean for a moment. “So, there’s a lot of stories out there about you Winchester boys.”

“Yeah.” Dean shrugged. “Some of them are even true.”

“It’s downright obvious the rumors about you bein’ more than just brothers are true.” Malcolm raised a hand at Dean’s flash of irritation. “Whoa! I’m not judging you.” He shook his head. “No right to, really, and I wouldn’t, anyway.” He paused a moment. “I heard tell that both you and Sam have  _died_  a couple of times?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, those stories are true. Sammy’s been dead more than once. Me? Well…there was the crossroads deal, then I was shot in the chest by Walt…or maybe Roy—we’re good now—there was the time I died to get Sam’s soul back, and then Metatron ganked me when I had the Mark of Cain. Sam and me  _both_  died to get out of the Men of Letters prison. If you want to count that whole Mystery Spot fiasco, I’ve been dead,” he stopped to count, “one hundred and four times.”

“You what?!” Malcolm stared at him, dumbstruck.

“Trickster,” Dean said. “It was like a real-life Groundhog Day.”

Malcolm shook his head and gave a low whistle. “You boys sure seem to have seen your fair share of weird.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “We’re used to weird. Get worried if things are too normal.”

Malcolm toyed with the coaster beside his place setting. “My life was never normal, even before I got into hunting.” He sighed. “I had a lot of crap growin’ up. Then I thought my life had taken a turn for the better… It was better, for a time. I met Marcus and…” He closed his eyes.

Dean waited, silent.

“We only had five years before Marc was killed by that vampire I mentioned. Shiloh.”

“I kn… I heard about that.”

“Marcus wouldn’t hurt a fly. Sometimes, I think he’d be pretty shocked if he knew some of the things I’ve done.”

Dean caught and held Malcolm’s gaze. “Maybe he’d be proud. One thing I’ve learned through all the crap Sammy and I have dealt with over the years? People don’t always react the way you expect them to.”

“I guess you got a point, there. I mean, take Fox. He isn’t the kinda guy you’d peg for a hunter, but I swear, you want some research, or need to find some obscure artefact? He’s your man.” He chuckled. “And he can hack into just about anything.”

They both fell silent as the waitress set their meals in front of them.

Looking at the burger and fries, Dean realized he had no appetite. He swallowed hard, reached for the cup of strong black coffee the waitress had poured for him and took a mouthful.

“You never thought of trying to bring Marcus back? You must’ve found out early on that there are ways…”

“No, I didn’t. Marcus would never forgive me. He wasn’t like us, Dean. Never would’ve understood. Besides, that kinda thing ends badly more often than not. I said my goodbyes a long time ago.”

“It’s hard,” Dean said. “Letting go of someone you love.” His voice cracked. He was aware on some level that Malcolm was still speaking, but he didn’t hear the words.

A chill washed over him as his mind lit up with a vison of Castiel standing just outside the tear in time and space.

_Castiel’s dark blue eyes lit with triumph as he met Dean’s gaze. They’d done it. Lucifer was trapped. The seraph took a step forward, parted his lips to speak and then…_

Dean closed his eyes against the image of Lucifer’s blade running through Cas’s chest.

“Dean?” Malcolm called, his voice edged with concern.

“I should never have left him,” Dean murmured. “I should’ve made sure he got through first. I should’ve kept between him and…” Dean shivered. “He was right  _there_! We all got out. He was  _right fucking there!_  Just one more step…”

“Dean, you can’t blame yourself for every soldier we lose.” Malcolm tried to calm him, but Dean didn’t hear a single word.

“Just … just one more…” Dean was suddenly acutely aware of other people in the bistro looking over at their table. He glanced around, confused. He patted the pockets of his jacket, unsure what he was looking for. He stumbled to his feet. “I…I’m sorry. I hafta go.”

“Dean!” Malcolm stood up.

“I have to… I’m…” Swallowing a ball of bile that rose in his throat, Dean turned and ran blindly out of the restaurant. He headed straight to the Impala and fumbled at the door, unable to get it open. He couldn’t find his keys.

“Fuck!” Dean let his forehead fall onto the cool metal of the Impala’s roof. “Cas! Cas, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” He slid down until he was on his knees beside the car, his shoulders heaving with wracking sobs.

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: This chapter refers back to a short coda piece I wrote for 12x18, titled Leaving A Mark It is not necessary to read that story to understand this chapter, but if you haven't already read it, you might enjoy it._
> 
> _As always, thanks go to my beta under_a_grey_cloud._
> 
> _M_

Dean quietly let himself into the hotel room where Sam lay sound asleep in the queen bed. He stood for a moment, listening to the slow, even measures of his brother’s breathing. He closed his eyes. The sound was soothing.

Dean knew his eyes were red rimmed with the tears he’d been unable to stop, back in town. He felt empty, and full and wrung out and wound tight all at the same time. He crossed the room, kicked off his boots, and slipped under the coverlet. He burrowed close to Sam’s large frame, buried his face in Sam’s hair, breathed the coconut scent of his brother’s shampoo.

He tried to hold back the well of emotion, but the tearing pain in his chest wouldn’t be stifled. He choked on a sob.

Sam stirred, rolled over and opened his eyes. “Hey. Hey, shh.” He pulled Dean close. “I’m here.”

“Sorry,” Dean whispered. “I tried not to wake you.”

“It’s okay. What happened?”

“Everything’s so fucked up, Sammy.” Dean sucked in a shuddering breath. “I just completely fucking lost it in the middle of the main street in town. Malcolm had to drive me back here. I couldn’t even see straight! Fuck!” Dean scrubbed at his face with a corner of the duvet.

“Dean.” Sam pushed himself up on an elbow, looking down at his brother. “We’ve just fought a battle against Lucifer. People who were supposed to be on our side betrayed us. Add to that, we found out Malcolm is still hunting despite our efforts to protect him. And, Cas...…you’re right. It _is_ fucked up. We just need to keep doing what we always do. We need to find a way to work through it and carry on.”

“I’m so fucking _tired_ of finding a way to _work through_ everything.” Dean heaved a sigh from the depths of his soul. “I…I don’t know if I _can_ anymore.”

Sam passed a palm across his face. “That’s just it, Dean. I don’t think we’ve ever had a choice. Not since the day Mom made that deal, before we were even born. The choice was taken from us right then.”

Dean closed his eyes. “What if… What if we just quit?”

“Live a life of happily ever after, you mean? D’you really think the world out there would let us?” Sam made a vague gesture at the world outside their room. “We’ve both _tried_ that, Dean.”

Dean sighed. “You’re right. There’s no happily ever after for us. But there is an eternal ‘gone.’ If what Billie said was true, when I die I’m not coming back…” Dean paused. “Well, you, they’d probably send back here. But…I bet there’s a demon or two in hell waiting to roll out the red carpet for me. I was a knight, after all. Could probably be one again.”

“Shut up!” Sam scowled. “Don’t talk like that! This life? It’s what we got, Dean. It’s _all_ we’ve got. We didn’t ask for any of it, but we make a difference.”

Dean scoffed. “You really believe that, don’t you? The only _difference_ I see us making is more friends dead every year.”

“I give up!” Sam reached under his pillow and pulled out the small flat pistol he usually carried in the back of his jeans. He offered it to Dean. “It’s loaded. You do me first.”

Dean stared at the gun in silence. He half lifted a hand to reach for it.

Malcolm knocked and opened the door. He stopped in the doorway, took in the scene. “You two boys okay?”

Sam dropped the hand holding the gun into his lap. Dean turned to look at Malcolm, silently cursing his distraction, for not locking the door behind him.

The vampire hunter’s features darkened with a frown. He squared his shoulders. “Dean, go take a shower,” he said in a low, firm tone. He turned his gaze to Sam. “Sammy, I need you to get on that fancy gadget of yours. What’d you say? iTab or whatever, see if there’s been anymore news related to those four campers. You both got half an hour and then we eat.” He looked from one to the other. “What y’all waiting for? Time’s a’wastin’.”

Dean got up. He gave Malcolm a wide berth as he headed for the bathroom.

\--

Once the bathroom door was shut and the sound of running water provided privacy, Malcolm turned to Sam. “Your brother is hangin’ by a thread.”

Sam nodded. “I know.” He reached for his iPad and stared into the dark screen as though he might find an answer there. “I’ve seen Dean tired before. I’ve seen him angry and down. But this… It’s different this time. Dean’s never talked about…” His eyes tracked to the pistol lying on the bed and then to the bathroom door. Sam turned a helpless gaze to Malcolm. “I don’t know what to do for him.” 

\--

Dean stood in the bathroom, staring unfocused at the hot water streaming from the shower head. He hadn’t undressed. _You’ve taken everything from us._ Dean wasn’t sure who “you” even was. _Playing your power games, using people like pawns on your chessboard._

“You take, and take, and we keep on giving! How much more do you want from us? Huh?” Dean turned his face to the ceiling. “How much more heartache? How much more blood? How much more? Tell me! HOW MUCH MORE?!”

\--

In the main room, Sam leapt to his feet, but Malcolm blocked his path to the bathroom.

“I’ll see to him, Sam.” He pushed open the bathroom door. “I thought I gave you an instruction, Dean.”

Dean turned to Malcolm, scowling. “And I thought I told you, I’m not someone you can push around.”

“In the circles I move in, it’s not considered pushing around. If you know Kalem Price, then I’m thinkin’ you know where I’m coming from here.”

Dean’s gaze wavered and dropped. An unconscious act of submission. He mumbled something that Malcolm didn’t quite catch.

“Speak up, boy. I can’t hear when you mutter under your breath.”

“I said, I know.”

“Good, then I suggest you get yourself into that shower. If you need help, I’m perfectly willing to give it!” Malcolm watched as Dean’s eyes slipped closed and the faintest hint of a shudder ran through the man. “I’m waiting.”

Still scowling, Dean pulled his t-shirt off over his head and dropped it to the floor.

Malcolm studied the lightly freckled skin and the ink on Dean’s chest. “Nice tattoo.”

“Anti-possession,” Dean replied. “But I guess you already know that.” He turned his back, adjusting the water temperature.

Malcolm frowned. “That cut on your shoulder looks angry.” He stepped closer, tracing his fingers around the reddened edges of the letter “S” carved into Dean’s right shoulder. “You haven’t taken proper care of this. It’s starting to get infected.”

Dean gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Haven’t really had a lot of time.” He sucked in a breath when Malcolm pressed a little around the edges of the wound.

“You do this kinda thing often?”

“Not lately.” Dean turned his head, looking at Malcolm over his shoulder. “Not ever before with Sam. I was surprised when he actually cut me.”

Malcolm let out a breath and turned to wash his hands in the bathroom sink. “I’m gonna take the scab off of it and clean it properly. Sit.”

Dean glanced around, uncertainly, then lowered the lid of the toilet and sat down. He watched as Malcolm turned off the shower and dried his hands.

“You got a first aid kit?” Malcolm asked.

“In there,” Dean nodded towards a small bag sitting on the floor.

Malcolm got the kit, and started to work on the wound. “When this is done properly, it can be very sensual,” he said.

“This?” Dean shrugged the wounded shoulder. “Was more first aid than sensuality. Sam did his best.”

Malcolm traced his fingers over the mark. He applied a washcloth soaked in hot water over the scab to soften it. “Your brother isn’t a natural top.”

“No kidding.” The sarcasm in Dean’s tone was unmistakable. Malcolm let it go.

“Would that be you, Dean? Natural top?”

“No, sir. I _can_ top, and I have. Do, with Sam, but...”

“A switch then?”

“No, I think I’m submissive.” Dean winced, hissing between his teeth as Malcolm pulled the scab away with a quick motion.

“Sorry.” He worked quickly to clean the cut, and applied a waterproof dressing. “Now, I think I told you to shower?”

“Yeah.” Dean seemed to relax. Some of the tension eased out of him.

Malcolm nodded. “Well, get to it.” He left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

Later that afternoon, Sam and Dean sat at the bar in the same bistro Malcolm had brought Dean to for lunch. The remains of a burger and a few fries sat on the counter in front of Dean. Sam poked spinach and kale around his plate. He watched his brother chatting up a barmaid who was easily old enough to be their mother. When she left to serve another customer, Dean turned to Sam.

“She likes me, Sammy.” Dean was practically preening.

Sam screwed up his nose and turned his attention to his salad.

“I could get into the whole older woman thing,” Dean mused. “Cougars. Do you remember Mildred? On that case where we killed the Banshee?”

Sam shot Dean a mildly pained look and Dean regretted raising the subject. He ought to know better than to bring Eileen to mind. He started to apologize, but Sam brushed it off.

“Have you been taking male enhancement pills again?”

“What? No!” Dean punched Sam in the arm. “I don’t need that stuff!”

“You know what Shakespeare wrote about protesting too much.” Sam chuckled.

“Okay, one time! _Once,_ Sam and I was just curious to see—shut up!”

Sam laughed, pointing at Dean with his fork. “Only _you_ would think to steal Viagra, Dean! You had a boner for hours!”

Dean growled. “Sammy…”

“What? I wasn’t complaining, honest! Not sure you got any bigger, but you kept it up all night.”

Dean blushed, staring into his beer. “What do old men in a home need with that stuff, anyway?”

Sam laughed so hard he spat out a mouthful of beer. He deliberately changed the subject. “So, Malcolm seemed a little happier after he came out of the bathroom back at the motel. What’d you two talk about in there?”

“Nothing much.” Dean shrugged. “He put a dressing on my shoulder. Told me I need to take better care of that mark you put on me.” He was silent for a moment. “Sam, we can’t do this with Malcolm.”

“We don’t have a lot of choice right now.”

“I’d gotten him outta my system. I was okay.”

“Bullshit!”

“Well, maybe I wasn’t _okay_. I was getting by, though.” Dean pointed to the plate in front of Sam. “Eat your salad. We came here to get you fed. You can do your Mo… your analyst routine and eat, too.”

Sam speared a baby spinach leaf with his fork. “I just want you to be happy, Dean.”

“I _was_ happy. Happy as I ever get, anyway.” Dean took a pull of his beer. “Okay, so it wasn’t perfect, but when are our lives ever perfect?” Dean paused, seemed to go inside himself for a long moment, his eyes reflecting the pain and sorrow he couldn’t give voice to. “You know, Malcolm still has that laptop you gave him. The one you custom built, geek-boy. It’s even got that stupid Celtic sigil you stuck on the lid.”

“It’s a Triskelion, Dean. It’s not stupid. It means the power of three, or trinity.” Sam shrugged. “It was just the three of us. It seemed like something he’d like.” He chuckled. “Malcolm chose laptops by the color of the case, not specs.”

“Dude, you’re such a girl.”

The barmaid stopped in front of them, a flirty smile on her face. “Can I get you anything?”

“We’re good.” Dean looked up at her, but her gaze was focused over his shoulder.

“I’ll just have whatever’s cold,” Malcolm replied.

Dean’s heart skipped several beats and then began to race. _Fuck!_ How long had Malcolm been standing behind them? How much had he heard? Dean swiveled his bar stool to look at the man. He caught his brother’s eye for a second. Sam shook his head.

Malcolm glanced at Sam. “You ain’t hardly touched that salad,” he said.

Sam cleared his throat. “Uh… have you eaten?”

“We’re not here to talk about whether or not I ate.” He turned the full intensity of his gaze on Dean. “Y’get caught in the headlights, boy?”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t think of a thing to say. He shook his head, helpless under that penetrating gaze. It always seemed as though Malcolm could see right inside his head, read his every thought and know what Dean needed, sometimes before Dean even knew himself.

Dean shot a glance at Sam, who was suddenly very interested in scoffing down as much spinach as he could fit into his mouth.

“I thought I heard you mention my laptop, Dean.”

Sam choked on a mouthful of greens.

“Did I?” Dean tried to play clueless.

Malcolm huffed a breath and shook his head. “I think it’s high time you boys come clean with me about just who the hell you are, why I keep having flashes of you, Dean. In my barn, on my ranch, naming my horses!”

This time, Sam really did have a coughing fit, spluttering and reaching for his beer.

“Chew each bite twenty times, boy,” Malcolm said without missing a beat. He turned to pin Dean with those eyes again. “I’m waitin’.”

Dean nodded. He drew a long, shaking breath and let it out. “Okay. Okay, but not here. Let Sam finish his salad and we’ll talk it out back at the hotel.”

“Alright,” Malcolm seemed to droop a little, some of the tension going out of his body.

Sam pushed his plate away. “I’m done.” He scowled when Malcolm turned to the barmaid and asked if she would box the leftover salad to go. “I’m fine…”

“You gonna pout, Sam?” Malcolm’s voice held a sharp note of steel and Sam shook his head.

The barmaid returned after a minute and handed the takeout box to Dean, who led the way out of the bar in silence.

 _How the hell did he get here from the hotel?_ Dean asked himself as they walked out to the parking lot. He glanced around, and thought he caught the tail end of the sheriff’s truck vanishing around a street corner. “Jody!”

“Was kind enough to offer me a ride,” Malcolm said.

“Great!” Dean got into the Impala and slammed the driver’s door.

“Dean!” Sam said.

“It’s okay, Sam. Let him vent his steam.” Malcolm climbed into the backseat and Sam rode shotgun.

**~~C C C~~**

Back at the hotel, they all went to Malcolm’s room. Dean perched on the end of Malcolm’s bed. Sam and Malcolm sat at the small table, the laptop between them.

Dean cleared his throat and met Malcolm’s eyes. “You’re remembering me in your barn with Rocky, because… it was my birthday and you gave him to me.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over his features. He shook his head. “I… No, _you_ named him…when I saw…what I saw. Just before I ran off the road. You named him Rocky, after the movies. But that horse has been named Rocky since I first got him. It was his name _before_ I got him.”

“You remember actually buying him?” Dean asked.

Frowning, Malcolm rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Of course! I got him from… I… he was from the…” He frowned and shook his head.

“You shipped him in all the way from Cedar Falls, Iowa,” Dean said. “Because I was always going on about how cowboys in the movies ride baldy faced horses with white socks.”

“That’s not even _true!”_ Malcolm scoffed.

Dean laughed. “I know. That’s _why_ you got me a horse just like that. You were takin’ the piss.”

“It’s true, Malcolm,” Sam said.

“Still don’t really explain anythin’. Why would I be buying you a horse anyway? Why were you…” Malcolm trailed off with a groan, pressing the palm of his hand against his brow.

Sam ran a hand across the laptop keyboard. “We got you this. I put all the software on it. This sticker on the top. It’s meant to signify the three of us.”

Malcolm leaned forward in his chair, still rubbing his forehead. “My goddamn head!”

Sam hunkered down beside Malcolm. “Don’t _try_ to remember, Malcolm. It will come back to you quicker if you don’t push it.”

Dean nodded. “Trust him, he knows.” He sighed. “We were…family. You pulled me out of the gutter after Sammy… When Sam was in hell. I lived with you for a year, while I got my head together. We started to make a life.” Dean glanced at Sam. “Just like he wanted me to.”

Sam looked into Dean’s eyes for a moment, then got up and got a bottle of water from the fridge, handing it to Malcolm.

Malcolm took the bottle. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Sam, and something like recognition seemed to flicker in his expression. “And then, Sam showed up,” he said. He looked at the bottle of water and huffed a mirthless laugh. “I think I need somethin’ a little stronger.”

Sam nodded, grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the counter and poured three measures of it, handing them out.

Downing his shot in one, Malcolm held out his glass for more. Sam poured.

“You took me in as well,” Sam said. “You took care of us both, despite… You even built me a gym. Installed a pool.”

“Exercise seemed to be all that could calm you.” Malcolm drank his second shot more slowly.

“Yeah, it helped a lot.”

“I’m glad we were…that we had you,” Dean said. “For as long as it lasted.”

Malcolm sighed. He shook his head. “I think I need some time,” he said. “I need to think on this.”

Dean nodded. “I’ll go get the parts for your truck and get to work on it. The guy at the garage is happy to let me use his workshop, for a bottle of the best.”

“Will you be okay?” Sam asked.

Malcolm nodded. “I’ll be fine. I’ll get my head around it.” He paused for a beat. “There’s one thing, though. I keep hearin’ this word in my head. It’s nothin’ I’m familiar with. Might have something to do with you boys?”

“Oh?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, could be a name, or a place. I don’t know. Might mean something, or it might just be that I hit my head in that accident.”

“What is it?”

“Strangest thing I ever heard. Seems…foreign. Castiel?”

Dean closed his eyes and swallowed hard. It could be possible that Malcolm remembered Castiel, or his name, at the very least. He’d met the angel once, very briefly towards the end.

“Does it mean somethin' to you?”

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice was rough with emotion. “Cas…he was…”

“The one you lost back there,” Malcolm said.

Too choked to speak, Dean merely nodded.

“He’s the reason I’m here today. He pulled me out of the cage. He’s a brother.”

“John had three boys?”

“No,” Dean said. “Yeah…well, he did, but…Cas wasn’t one of them. Brother in arms, you know.”

“We should let you get some rest,” Sam said.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I’ll start work on the truck. Shouldn’t take too long.”

\---

Malcolm lay wide awake in bed, staring at the blinking neon light visible through the motel room curtains. He was supposed to be resting. That was a joke. His head was filled with a dull throbbing ache and a million questions. He knew on some level that what Sam and Dean had told him earlier was true. Yet, try as he might, he couldn’t dredge up memories to match the words. The more he searched the more his head ached, to the point that he felt as though he would puke.

All he had was the image of Dean with Rocky and a vague sense that he knew Sam from a time before the present. He sighed, turned away from the window and closed his eyes. Sam had told him not to force himself to remember. Easier said than done.

\---

“You know, maybe Malcolm shouldn’t be on his own, trying to make sense of all this.” Sam watched Dean pull on a pair of coveralls that he’d found hanging in the workshop, getting ready to start work on Malcolm’s truck.

“You didn’t have to come with me, Sam.”

“Yes, I did. Someone’s got to drive the Impala back to the hotel when you’re done here. I know you’re good, Dean, but even you can’t drive two cars at once.”

Dean chuckled, nodded acceptance of the point. “Why don’t you take her back now? I think I can replace a shock absorber without supervision.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, shouldn’t take more than an hour or two anyway. Besides…I need to think. You know I do that best with a wrench in my hand.” Dean tossed Sam his keys. “Go on, I’ll be okay here.”

“Alright. Be careful.” Sam walked to the Impala and climbed in.

Dean pressed a button to raise the truck on the garage hoist. He picked up a wrench. “Okay, sweetheart, let’s get you feeling better.”


	8. Chapter 8

Malcolm's room was dark when Sam returned to the motel. He stood outside the door, uncertain, then knocked lightly.

Malcolm opened the door a few moments later. "Sam." He smiled and stepped back. "C'min." He switched on the bedside table lamp and sat down on the end of bed. "I thought you went with Dean."

Sam locked the door behind him and sat down at the table. "He's better off without me. I just get in his way...lost count of how many times Dean's tried to teach me about cars. I can change a tire, switch out spark plugs, but the rest of it, just doesn't stick in my head." Sam watched as Malcolm reached for a bottle of water and took a long drink.

"Head feels like I’m comin’ off a week long bender," Malcolm said.

 "You've been trying to remember," Sam replied. "It hurts. Want some coffee?" He turned on the kettle in the kitchenette.

Malcolm let out a breath. "Yeah, I suppose I have. Kinda hard when you're told _not_ to remember. S'like not thinkin' about red-assed monkeys." He got up as he spoke, and went into the bathroom.

Sam frowned at the bathroom door for a moment. He shook his head and tore open a couple of instant coffee sachets. He poured hot water over the granules and wrinkled his nose. Sam and Dean never touched the instant coffee in motel rooms as a rule, but needs must.

 

\---

 

Malcolm leaned on the vanity and stared into the mirror. His eyes looked like a road map, the lack of sleep obvious in the tired lines of his face. He muttered a curse and bent to splash cold water on his skin, trying to wake up. As he straightened, the fluorescent bar over the basin flickered. Frowning, Malcolm tapped it with his fingernail until the light shone steadily again.

An instant later, the world seemed to tip sideways. Malcolm's head spun with the sudden rush of memories.

 --

_Malcolm locks up the last of the horse stalls and reaches to turn out the lights in the barn. An electrical buzz from outside catches his attention and Malcolm turns his head. The lights in the yard flicker crazily._

_"What the..." Malcolm steps towards the doors and then halts as he sees a tall, lean figure outlined against the flickering lights. He can't make out the man's face, but he's got to be over six feet tall. He carries his height well. Shoulders back, head high. He's silent, an air of wary alert coming off him. Malcolm steps forward._

_"C'n I help you? You lost? Broke down? There's a phone over at the house..."_

_"M'looking for Dean. Dean Winchester," the stranger says._

_Malcolm is instantly on the alert. There's something off about the way the man speaks. A flatness to his tone. Besides, no one just shows up looking for Dean. Hunters call ahead. Monsters don't announce themselves._

_"Is he here?"_

_Malcolm narrows his eyes. "Who’s askin’?"_

_"My name's Sam. Sam Winchester."_

_Malcolm's blood runs cold._

_\--_

Malcolm lunged for the toilet just in time to lose his scant dinner and the water he'd drunk. He heard Sam knock on the door and call his name.

Gasping for breath, Malcolm passed the back of his hand across his mouth. "M'alright," he called. It was a lie. He was far from alright. His hand shook as he flushed the toilet. He swilled more water from the faucet, spitting it into the basin. "I'll be right out." He took a moment to regain his composure before leaving the bathroom.

Sam sat at the table, absently thumbing through his phone. He glanced up when Malcolm emerged. "I made coffee," he said. "It's instant. Sorry."

"Not sure I could drink it right now," Malcolm said. "Thanks anyway."

"Maybe you should sit down," Sam's eyes reflected concern as he studied Malcolm’s face.

"Yeah." Malcolm eased himself onto the chair opposite Sam. "I remembered... seein' you outside the barn that first night."

"Oh." Sam's eyes darkened with an unreadable emotion and he looked away. "Not long out of the cage."

"I didn’t know that then," Malcolm said. "I could tell though, somethin' wasn't right about you."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. Well, not having a soul tends to do that."

Malcolm winced. "Sorry, that came out a little wrong."

"It's okay," Sam said. He frowned. "I still needed to find Dean, though. That's always been a bit of a mystery to me."

"You can't figure that out?" Malcolm shook his head. "I don't know a whole lot about you two, I admit. But I do know one thing. You're like a lodestone to each other. A homin' beacon. Where one is, the other won't be far away. Some people would call you twin flames."

Sam sipped his coffee. "Whenever I sit down and try to remember how I felt during that time, it just confuses me more. I mean, having no soul should mean no capacity to love, right? But there I was, needing Dean. And there he was, living the life I wanted him to have. With you."

Malcolm had no answer to that.

"I don't know if I should have come back for him. He was happy."

Malcolm drew a long breath. "He looked happy, maybe. I don't doubt he _tried_ to be happy. But Dean... I don't think that he was ever mine. Doubt he ever could be." He looked into Sam's eyes. "I was holdin' him together for you."

"He cared about you, Malcolm. It was because of how we... he felt about you getting hurt, that we left."

"If it was such a big thing between him and me, why don't I remember?"

"That's the tricky part. That was all down to Crowley."

Malcolm frowned, turned the name over on his tongue. "Crowley. I've heard of him. Some kinda high class demon?"

"King of hell while Lucifer was in the cage." Sam sighed. "You got hurt. Thought we were going to lose you. Your kidneys were failing and..." He shook his head. "Anyway, Dean decided he couldn't watch you die, couldn't live with the constant fear that you'd get hurt because of him. He tried to get Cas to do it, but he wouldn’t. So Dean went to Crowley. You were healed and out of the business, and we were gone before sunset."

Silence stretched taut between them for a long moment before Malcolm spoke.

"You... He... That wasn't your right to decide."

"I know, and we're both sorry. " Sam let out a breath. "It was a memory wiping spell, but the way things were sold to us wasn’t how it really went down. We thought you and Fox were out of the game. Safe. That was the whole point."

"I got into hunting with my eyes open, Sam. I knew I could get hurt, or worse. First, it was for Marcus. To get the vampire that killed him. After that, I... I couldn't know what I knew then and not be a hunter."

“Crowley said he had made you forget everything, Malcolm. He said you wouldn’t have any memory of the vampire that killed Marcus. You’d believe he was killed by some maniac."

"Demons," Malcolm said. "I never had much truck with 'em. Killed a few in my time. One of the first things any hunter learns about them, Sam, is that they lie."

Sam bowed his head, staring at the cold coffee in his cup.

"So, now I'm remembering. I suppose this demon; this _Crowley_ took back his end of the deal?"

"No." A sigh and a shake of Sam's head. "Crowley pulled a lot of sleazy tricks, but I never knew him to go back on a deal. He died helping us try to trap Lucifer. We think his spell died with him. That's why you started getting flashes of memory. Or maybe it was running into us that made you start to remember. I don't know. Dean thinks if we took off now you might not remember any more than you already have."

"Somehow, I think now the ball has started rollin' I'm only gonna keep remembering more ‘n’ more. So... I guess we find us another demon-witch, or we work out what the hell else to do?" Malcolm palmed his forehead.

"That can't happen!" Sam said quickly. "I mean, Dean can't go through that again."

"Go through what?"

"Losing you. He just can't. There's...stuff he needs that I can't give him."

"I saw the mark you put on him," Malcolm said. "You sure you ain't sellin' yourself short, Sammy?" He paused, staring into space for a long moment. "When I first met Marcus, I’d never dreamed of putting a collar on someone. Tyin' 'em up, marking their skin with a whip. It's just another skill set. C'n be learned."

"Not by me," Sam said. "I cut Dean that night, because... I didn't know how else to bring him down, he was on the edge. It's not something I could do again."

Malcolm frowned. "I don't rightly know if I could get in between you two."

"You did. I mean it was the three of us, after I came back." Sam sighed. "I thought back then that I was losing Dean to you. I wasn't. I'm losing him _now_ to the memories that haunt him. I can't help him the way he needs."

Malcolm frowned in thought. “Tell me more about this Castiel.”

“He’s—he was the angel who brought Dean back from hell,” Sam said.

Malcolm nodded. “And you, you said. But he was more than that for Dean. More than a friend.” He paused, his gaze going distant. “There’s a feelin’  I get around Dean. Reminds me of myself when I lost Marcus. He’s grieving. Desperate. Might do anythin’, right now.”

“Cas and Dean,” Sam sighed. “Dean loves him, is all I know. I don’t think there was anything physical between them…”

“Don’t have to be physical to tear your heart out.”

 "Seeing you again finding out you're still hunting and that everything he had given up was for nothing." Sam shook his head. "Dean's a mess, right now and you don't really remember him."

"Then I gotta remember. Fast."


	9. Chapter 9

The radio played quiet heavy metal as Dean worked on Malcolm’s truck. He’d turned the volume down as it got late. He had switched out the damaged shock absorber and replaced it and was tightening the last nut when the wrench slipped and Dean’s knuckles smacked against a metal support arm.

“Fuck!” Dean dropped the wrench and walked away a few paces. He glanced around for something to wrap his bleeding knuckles, snatched a clean rag from a counter and wound it around his hand. That done, he sat down on a stack of tires near the doorway, staring up into a clear night sky.

 _Cas? Cas, c’mon, dude, listen to me. Answer me! Wake the hell up, or whatever. I know you must still be around. I… I’d feel it if you were gone, wouldn’t I?_ He doesn’t pause to wait for a response. _Look, maybe, wherever you are, you don’t know who I am. You don’t remember or something. Okay. I get that. That’s all right, but listen. I’m your…I’m… you’re my best friend. You… it’s complicated, I guess, but we’re important to each other. So, wherever you are, you need to come find me. I’ll even make it easy for you. I’m in a town called Sioux Falls. It’s in South Dakota. We have a friend here, Sherriff Jody Mills. So, you come here, find me. We’ll figure it out, whatever it is. Just come._

Dean stared up at the sky, straining his vision for movement, looking for a change in a star’s twinkle pattern, a comet, anything. Nothing changed. He bowed his head. _This is the part where you’re supposed to appear out of nowhere, breathing down my neck saying ‘Hello, Dean.’_ He closed his eyes against the prickling tears. “I need you, Cas. Please.”

Silence.

Dean glanced up at the sky one last time and pressed his palms against his eyes. He got up and finished up the repairs.

 

#  **. . .**

 

The coffee in both cups was long cold, abandoned on the table while Sam and Malcolm talked.

“So, you and Dean took off from the ranch, Fox and me forgot that we’d ever been anything more than friends.” Malcolm shook his head. “And I forgot, _completely_ , that I’d had a partner for two and a half years.” He passed a hand across his forehead. “I don’t understand why Dean thought that was the best path to take.”

Sam picked up his cup, looked at the contents and set it down again. “Dean’s more likely to push people out, rather than draw them in. It’s some crazy idea he has that everyone around him dies. So he figures if he holds people at arm’s length, he can stop that happening.”

“I know. You told me he said I’d stop remembering if you guys took off again.” Malcolm shook his head. “It’s insane,” he said. “And it’s gotta stop.”

“He’s afraid, Malcolm.”

“Afraid of me?” Malcolm’s frown deepened. “Did I…hurt him?”

“No. It’s… he’s scared that you’ll reject him, for what he did to you.”

“Reject him? I might chew him out, and he’d deserve it, but…”

“That’s probably what you should do,” Sam said. “He still responds to every word you say. You have to have noticed that.”

“I see him strugglin’. Tryin’ to be strong. Tryin’ to brush me off. He just don’t get it, that those ain’t the same thing.”

“Yeah. Well, you need to do your thing, or we’re both going to lose him.” Sam got up to rinse their cups in the bathroom sink as they heard a car pull up and stop nearby.

Malcolm glanced towards the door. “What about you, Sam?”

Sam returned from the bathroom. He looked into Malcolm’s eyes. “If you save Dean, you save me.”

\---

Dean climbed out of the truck and reached into the passenger’s seat for a paper sack and a tray of takeout coffee cups. He nudged the door shut with his hip, pressed the key tab to lock the truck and walked to the motel room door, fumbling with the room key. He tried to push it into the door, and dropped it. “Son-of-a-bitch! Sammy!”

The door to Malcolm’s room opened and Sam poked his head out. “In here… see you got the truck going.” He stepped outside and took the paper sack from Dean.

Dean followed Sam into Malcolm’s room. “Got your truck running smooth as silk. When was the last time you had it tuned?”

“Not _that_ long ago,” Malcolm said.

“Long enough that the spark plugs were filthy,” Dean groused. He grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down at the table.

Sam peered into the bag. “No muffins?” He huffed a breath.

“Oh get over it, Sammy. I got the glazed donuts that you like,” Dean said.

“Fine! Let them eat donuts.” Sam snagged a donut and grabbed a cup of coffee.

Malcolm could see through the brittle veneer Dean wore to the festering pain beneath. “You don’t need coffee this late, Dean,” he said. “You oughtta get some sleep.”

Dean’s mask of cocky bravado slipped a little. He broke off mid-banter with Sam and turned to look at Malcolm. “I can sleep with four or five cups under my belt.”

“Actually, I’m kind of tired,” Sam said. “I’m gonna head to bed myself.” He left the room quickly, Dean staring after him with a look of naked betrayal.

“Why don’t you get out of those clothes, wash up. I’ll fix you a warm drink that won’t leave your nerves jangling,” Malcolm said.

Dean’s gaze came back to Malcolm. He opened his mouth to speak, but then clamped his jaw shut. He pulled Malcolm’s keys from his pocket and laid them on the table.

“Go on,” Malcolm said.

Dean frowned, but he got to his feet and headed into the bathroom.

Malcolm relaxed a little. He pulled back the comforter on his bed, then set about making a cup of herbal tea. He could hear running water, and nodded to himself, glad that Dean had decided not to defy him, yet. “Don’t be all night in there, boy.”

A muffled “Whatever,” was Dean’s only response.

Malcolm decided that he liked that little bit of sass. Dean was no pushover. It would be like gentling a colt, that delicate dance of push and retreat, push a little more. There was nothing Malcolm enjoyed better. “C’mon, now. Tea’s ready,” he called.

“Tea?” Dean came out of the bathroom. He’d stripped to his t-shirt but still wore his jeans. “Tea’s for old ladies.”

“You got a hearin’ problem?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I said to get out of your clothes, and you’re not havin’ coffee.”

“Fine, but I’m not drinkin’ tea, either.”

“Then I’ll fix you some warm milk.”

“All due respect. I don’t _need_ anything. I bought coffee and donuts because Sam likes something sweet before bed. You said no coffee, okay. I’m fine with that.”

“You still have your jeans on. And, if you don’t want to throw down, right here, I’d suggest you don’t give me anymore lip.”

“I’m _not_ giving you lip!” Real irritation sparked in Dean’s tone. “I don’t want to drink tea, and milk makes me… I mean, I don’t even take milk in my coffee, because…”

Malcolm ignored the protests, but didn’t insist on the drink. He raised an eyebrow and let his gaze travel down to the jeans and back. “I’m waitin’.”

“Fine.” Dean started to unbuckle his belt.

“Slowly, like I taught you.”

Dean met and held Malcolm’s gaze for a long moment. He slowly took off his jeans, standing there in t-shirt and boxer shorts. He shuffled his feet, suddenly looking vulnerable and uncertain.

Malcolm smiled a little. “Good. On the bed, now.” He picked up a length of black nylon rope.

“Why? What’re you gonna do?”

“Play jump rope.” Malcolm huffed a laugh. “You know what this is about, Dean. Don’t be coy.”

Dean’s eyes went to the door. For a moment, Malcolm thought the boy would bolt, but he stood his ground, looked at Malcolm.

“I’m not defying you,” Dean said. “I swear that’s not where this is coming from.” He pulled in a breath, let it go. “Sam’s in there alone.” He indicated the other room with a nod. “I’m in here tied up. There’s people, and other things out there, hunting hunters. Some of them are after _us_ in particular. What happens if…”

Malcolm nodded. It was a reasonable question. “I’m not going to put you in full bondage. A rope on your leg, that’s all—a quick release knot. If it makes you feel better, I’ll call Sam in here once you’re asleep.”

Dean studied Malcolm’s face for a full minute. He must have seen what he needed to, because he climbed onto the bed and lay still and quiet while Malcolm fashioned a cuff in the end of the rope and looped it around Dean’s ankle. That done, Malcolm secured the other end of the rope to the leg of the bed, leaving enough slack that Dean could roll over and move around a little. He pulled the coverlet over Dean.

Dean closed his eyes, relaxing into the pillows. He was quiet for so long that Malcolm thought he had gone to sleep.

“Do you remember how we met?” Dean asked.

“No. But I know that this is as natural as breathin’ for me ‘n’ you.”

“It was in Michigan,” Dean said. “I was hustling pool in some little backwoods town. Stopped over, on my way to see a girl I knew.”

Malcolm nodded. “I remember being in Michigan a few years ago.”

“Sam was gone. He’d practically told me to quit. I had permission not to care about monsters, demons, freaks. I heard plenty about them, but I wasn’t hunting. I didn’t give a damn.” He paused for a long moment. “I saw you sitting in a corner pretending not to watch me.” Dean laughed. “Thought you were a vampire at first. Dressed all in black, with your hair down past your shoulders.”

Malcolm sat down on the bed. “I did let it go a bit back then.”

“I walked right by your table on my way out of the bar. Caught your eye. I knew you’d follow me. What I didn’t know, was whether I was gonna shoot you, or fuck you.”

Malcolm smiled. “Well, seein as I’m here alive and kicking. I’m guessin’ that you didn’t shoot me.”

Dean chuckled. “Didn’t fuck you either. We almost got in a fist fight.”

“S’that so?”

“But then, you shook your head, and said: ‘Look, kid, we’re both on the same team here. No point us beating on each other. I can see you’ve taken a loss. Someone important to you. Let me buy you a meal, give ya a bed. One hunter to another, and if you want, you can tell me who they took from you.”

“You make me sound like a saint.” Malcolm shook his head.

“I was tired and hungry. Lost my last twenty dollars on that game. So, even though I thought you were a self-righteous asshole, I wasn’t gonna pass up free food and a chance to sleep somewhere other than in my car.”

Malcolm laughed, genuinely amused. “Know what side your bread’s buttered, huh?” He reached under the coverlet, tugging on the rope. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah, your knots are good. So anyway, that bed for a night, turned into two, then three and we wound up hunting vampires together. Then, I followed you home.”

Malcolm winced and pressed a hand to his forehead as a vivid flash of memory assailed him.  Dean, in heavy bondage wearing leather cuffs on his wrists.

“I had cuffs made for you.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Leather ones, and later, heavier ones for Sam with sigils on them that could block Lucifer from his head. We…uh. Borrowed those, when we left.”

“About that.”

Dean looked into Malcolm’s eyes, uncertainty lighting his gaze. He didn’t shrink from the confrontation. Malcolm admired that trait—one Dean and Sam both shared. When they knew they had a lickin’ coming, they would square up and take it on the chin.

“You had no right to mess with my mind the way you did, Dean. Nor with Fox’s for that matter. I was a hunter before you knew me. You didn’t get me into this life, and it wasn’t your fault that I got hurt.”

“But it was.”

“No, Dean. If I was hurt on a hunt, or because of something associated with hunting, that’s just the life. So, you were involved. That don’t make you responsible.”

Dean closed his eyes. “I wish I could believe that.”

“Far as I’m concerned, unless it was you pulled the trigger, or wielded the knife, you’re not to blame. I wish you woulda talked to me, Dean.”

“I couldn’t. You were dying. I had to make a decision fast.” Tears welled in Dean’s eyes.

“So, typical of you, you decided to save me by throwin’ away everythin’ we had.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Malcolm sighed. “Get some sleep, Dean. We got a long drive ahead tomorrow.”


	10. Chapter 10

Early the next morning, Sam knocked on Malcolm’s door. He’d been to the diner across from the motel and brought coffee, muffins and bacon and egg rolls.

Malcolm, stiff and sore from spending the night watching over Dean as he slept, gratefully accepted a coffee and waved Sam to a seat at the table.

“Thanks for the breakfast,” Malcolm said as he sat down and snagged an egg roll.

“I wouldn’t dare turn up without it,” Sam nodded towards Dean’s sleeping form. “He’s like a bear in the mornings until he’s had coffee and bacon.”

Malcolm chuckled, shooting Dean a glance. “Isn’t ‘bear’ his default setting?”

Sam laughed. “Not all the time. He’s been tired lately, I guess.” He looked at Dean, his face softening with that fondness the brothers seemed to reserve only for each other. “In fact, this is probably the longest solid block of sleep he’s had in weeks.”

“Boy just needed tellin’,” Malcolm remarked gruffly. He bit into his  bacon and egg roll with a groan of pleasure.

Sam looked at him, smiled. “You remind me so much of…”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “Your father?”

“No, I was going to say…” He shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“You can’t just say somethin’ like that and then drop it.”

“Alright. Bobby Singer.”

“That old dog?” Malcolm’s tone carried a note of respect. “Been compared to worse.”

Sam lowered his gaze, busied himself unwrapping a bacon roll. “So any more news on the case? I called Garth when I woke up. He didn’t know any more than we do.”

Malcolm nodded and turned his laptop to face Sam. The screen displayed an email from Fox. “I’m figurin’ this was the work of the same nest,” He said. “A ‘double murder’ at an isolated farming property. Two adults dead and two teenaged boys missin’.”

Sam frowned. He set down his roll and leaned closer to read the email.  “Damn.”

“I figure the vamps killed the parents, turned the boys.”

Sam was about to reply when Dean made a fretful sound, stirring fitfully in his sleep. Sam glanced toward the bed and frowned. “He doesn’t sleep well, even when we have time for a good rest.” He glanced at the time displayed on the laptop. “He should be waking soon anyway. He’s had way more than his standard four hours.”

“That ain’t nearly enough to keep him on his game. Even when he was at my ranch?”

“He’d stay in bed for your prescribed seven-point-five. Didn’t always sleep that long, though.” He laughed, recalling. “When you two negotiated sleeping times you would’ve thought you were brokering peace in the Gaza Strip.”

“Take it I won, though.” A frown. “Tell  me, Sam, what has Fox got to do with all this?” Malcolm made a gesture that took in Dean, Sam and himself.

Sam sighed. “Fox was… a rescue? I think that’s the term they use in your lifestyle.”

Malcolm nodded. “I remember him bein’ brought into the club. We set him up in town, got him a job, helped him apply for his course…but you and Dean weren’t in the picture.”

“Maybe you don’t remember it now, but we were there. It was at a house party.  I’d only just got my soul back and was still  figuring out where I fit in the world. And with you and Dean.”

Malcolm nodded. “Go on.”

“Dean was the first to realize what was going on between Fox and his…the guy he was with at the time. He came to me, told me he thought the kid was being abused. When we told you about it,  Doctor Price did some digging…” Sam shrugged. “So, when it all panned out, you wound up with a partner who bucked you at every turn, a kid who was afraid of his own shadow, and…me.”

Malcolm huffed. “You’re tellin’ me I had all three of you?!”

“Well, not exactly. I mean, you had _Dean._ He was your focus, but Fox and me… we were kind of...” Sam shrugged.

“You know somethin’? I’m starting to think this Crowley bit off more than he could chew makin’ me forget I had _three_ boys in my care.”

Sam nodded. “You could be right.”

Malcolm glanced at Dean. “It doesn’t fit with what I know now. First off, Andres Cachorro ain’t no shrinkin’ violet. Yeah, he was pretty messed up a few years back, but he’s got his life in check now. He renovates old houses, sells them for a decent profit. He works as an orderly at the local hospital to fund his projects. He still visits the club to play now and then, but that’s about it. There’s never been anything beyond that between him and me. When it comes to huntin’ we work together because with his job, he don’t get to just take off after some creep. He does the research and I do the killin’.”

“Fox wasn't a shrinking violet when I knew him, either.” Sam smiled a little. “He was messed up, for a while he was scared and anxious, but he got better. There wasn’t much between you two then. Fox was my partner more than yours or Dean’s.” He paused a moment. “Does he still cook? While we were living at the ranch, Fox was doing his nursing studies and he cooked for a local diner.”

Malcolm sighed. “He never finished his nursin’. He got pretty banged up on one of the few hunts he went on. Still throws together some decent food though.” He glanced at the bed as Dean grunted, stirred and rolled onto his back.

Dean muttered a curse when the rope pulled taut on his leg. He sat up, blinking owlishly at his ankle. “The hell?”

“G’mornin’, Dean.” Malcolm said. “Sleep well?”

Dean scrubbed at his face with one hand. “How long was I out?”

“Not long enough,” Malcolm said, “but longer than you’ve been in a while, if what Sam says is true.” He released the knot at Dean’s ankle and removed the rope.

“I sleep enough,” Dean said. “Four hours straight whenever we get downtime, and I nap in between hunts.”

“Yeah, I can see how that works for you, what with you wakin’ up all full of smiles and sunshine.”

Dean shot Malcolm a resentful look and got out of bed, heading to the bathroom.

Sam spoke over the sound of splashing water. “Wait for it.”

“Coffee!” Dean grumbled as he returned. He spotted the cups on the table and picked one up, took off the lid, took a sip and grunted in satisfaction as he snagged a bacon roll.

“Nice t’see ya got your priorities straight,” Malcolm quipped, earning a glower from Dean, while Sam snorted into his coffee cup.

Malcolm tossed his cup into the trash and stood up. “I’m gonna go check us out. You boys finish up and get packed. Sooner we get started, sooner we get on the trail of these vamps. No horsin’ around, neither. We have no  time to waste.” He strode out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

 “He’s different, Sam. More bossy. He sounded just like Dad!” Dean growled.

“Drink your coffee,” Sam said. “You’re not awake yet.” He gestured at the laptop. “He’s focused on the hunt, is all. News is not good.”

Dean sat down and pulled the laptop around to face him, biting into his bacon roll as he read the email. Dean’s expression grew darker. He picked up his coffee cup as he got to his feet. “C’mon,” he said. “We need to hit the road.”

Back in their own room, Sam started packing their clothes. “Malcolm remembers how Fox arrived at Kalem Price’s club,” he said. “But that’s it. Nothing about how we were involved.” He glanced at Dean. “Why don’t you shower and get dressed. I can finish packing.”

Dean stepped close, pulled Sam into his arms and kissed him. They stood there wrapped in each other’s arms for several seconds before Sam gently pulled away. “Maybe this’ll be good for us. Hunting regular old-fashioned monsters. Could give us the break we need.”

Dean laughed. “You know, there’s probably not another person on earth who’d think of hunting vampires as a break.”

“Asshole. You know what I mean.” Sam playfully shoved Dean onto the bed and landed on top of him.

“Hey! No fair. You didn’t give me any warning.” Dean dug his fingers into Sam’s ribs, tickling him mercilessly.

“Dean! Ow. Stop it!” Sam squirmed, laughing. “Admit you’re an asshole.” He managed to stick his tongue into Dean’s ear, which he knew his brother loathed.

“Guh! Sam, that’s gross. You smell like stale coffee. Get off, quit slobbering on me!”

Sam attacked Dean’s ear with greater determination. “Say you’re an asshole.”

Neither brother noticed when Malcolm rapped on the door and then stepped into their room. He stood for a moment, watching them, suppressing his laughter as Sam got Dean in a half-nelson and pinned him, demanding that his brother admit to being an asshole.

Malcolm cleared his throat. “I thought I told you boys, no horsin’ around.”

Dean went still and then tapped Sam’s forearm. “Let me up.”

Sam released his brother and both men got off the bed.

Malcolm turned to Dean. “You get a chance to look over Fox’s email about the vamps?”

Dean nodded. “It’s weird. Why are they killing again so soon?”

“My guess is they’re recruiting.”

“But they killed all four of those campers.”

“Yeah, that might’ve been just breakin’ their fast. Been a mite dangerous for vamps to show their faces while your British friends were runnin’ all over the place. This time, they killed two, and the younger ones are missin’. Seems pretty obvious to me.”

“If they’ve turned those boys, we should hurry, Dean,” Sam said. “If we get to them before they’ve killed maybe we can cure them.”

“Cure a vampire?” Malcolm shook his head. “The only ‘cure’ I know of is to take the head off the shoulders.”

“That used to be true,” Dean replied. “Our grandfather found a cure. It only works on vamps who haven’t fed live yet.”

Sam nodded. “Dean’s living proof.”

“You?” Malcolm turned to look at Dean.

“I was turned not long after we left your ranch.”

“I got there too late,” Sam said.

“It wasn’t your fault, Sammy. You’d only just got your soul back. Wasn’t exactly an easy time for you.”

“So Dean was cured.” Malcolm looked from one to the other. “You cure anybody else?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “We used it on one other new-turned vamp.”

“We’ve got to try,” Sam said. “We have to get there fast.”

“Well, if there’s a chance, then it’s time we get goin’.”

Gathering up their bags, Sam headed for the parking lot. Dean grabbed his jacket and followed him. “I don’t even get time to shower?”

“Use some baby wipes,” Sam said.

“Sam!” Malcolm called and tossed him the keys to his truck. “You drive her till we get to the turnpike. I need a word with your brother.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and glanced at Dean.

“It’s okay, Sam.” Dean nodded. He watched as his brother stowed their bags in the Impala’s trunk and climbed into Malcolm’s truck.

Dean took the Impala’s driver’s seat as usual and Malcolm rode shotgun. They followed Sam out of the parking lot. Dean silently sent out a prayer.

_Cas? We’re moving on. Got a hunt in Arizona. You can either find us out there, or if you want, find our friend Jody Mills and stay with her. We’ll be checking in._

“You should get a decent night’s sleep more often, boy,” Malcolm said. “If I tried this yesterday, you woulda bit my head off.”

Dean sent him a sidelong glance, his hands tightening on the wheel. “So, what did you wanna talk about?”

“From what I can piece together, it seems you and me were pretty involved for a couple years. Years that you took it on yourself to have stolen from me. Now you got the advantage. You remember all our time together an’ I only have a few snatches of memory. You prob’ly know I don’t take well to loss. You had no right, Dean. For all I know, maybe we had a crappy relationship and it would’ve ended anyhow.”

“No,” Dean said. “It was… we were good together, mostly. We had our disagreements, but-“

“Then, why?” Malcolm turned a steady gaze on him. “Why would you…”

“I told you why. You were dying. I couldn’t stand to lose you.”

“But you knew … creatures that had the ability to _heal_ me, Dean! Why’d you have to take it one step further and delete yourself from my life?”

“To keep you safe! Don’t you get it?!” Dean turned his eyes to Malcolm for an instant and then looked back to the road. “People who get involved with me. They wind up dead. If you only knew how many we’ve lost and _none_ of them were immune, Malcolm. Not even _angels or demons!”_

“That’s a load of horse shit!”

“It’s _not!_ I could go through the roll call if you want.”

Malcolm closed his eyes and counted slowly to five under his breath. “It won’t make a difference, Dean. I don’t reckon there’s any kind of curse on you. I think you lost a lot of friends and family, but that’s down to who your family is. It’s about huntin’, not _you.”_

Dean’s jaw clenched, unclenched. His knuckles went white as he gripped the wheel. He turned up the radio.

Malcolm turned the radio off. “You’re gonna hear me, Dean. This is how it’ll be. You, me and Sam are gonna hunt these vamps together. I’ll probably remember more about us, and when I do, questions will come up and you’ll _answer_ those questions, boy, because you _owe_ me that much. Got it?”

Dean sighed. He drooped a little in defeat. “Yeah, Malcolm, I get it. I’ll do my best to answer any questions you have. And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Bein’ sorry is a start,” Malcolm said. “But you wanna fix somethin’, you gotta work to make it right.”

Malcolm waved out the window for Sam to pull the truck over, and Dean slotted the Impala in behind it.

“We got over a thousand miles to go, Dean and a lot of catching up to do once we get there.” Malcolm looked at him and gave a tiny smile before he turned and climbed out of the car, holding the door for Sam to get in.

Malcolm closed the door and leaned into the window. “I’ll follow you from here on. I put my number in your phone while you were sleepin’. Lemme know when you need a rest stop.” He patted the roof of the Impala and walked to his truck.


	11. Chapter 11

They’d been on the interstate for all of twenty minutes when Dean glanced at Sam. “I suppose pulling over at a roadside park for a BJ along the way’s out of the question?”

Sam shot him a disbelieving look. “Seriously?”

“What? It’s a tradition on a long road trip. At least, since Dad’s been out of the picture.”

“Not with your ex looking over our shoulders, Dean.” Sam’s bitch-face was priceless. Dean chuckled.

Sam shook his head. “Anyway, Malcolm’s convinced there’ll be more attacks. We have to hurry, but, maybe when we stop for the night.”

“ _Definitely_ when we stop for the night,” Dean corrected. “I got plans for you.” He snaked a hand across the seat, kneading Sam’s thigh. “I wanna hear you beg, Sammy.” He smirked at a hitched breath from Sam.

“Yeah, well…we’ll  see how we feel, right?” Sam glanced over his shoulder at the Malcolm's truck following close on Dean’s bumper.

“I wanna see how you feel now,” Dean purred. His hand slid higher on Sam’s thigh and he edged his pinky finger along the hardening length of Sam’s cock.

“Dean!” Sam gasped, pushing back against the seat. “Don’t start anything you can’t finish. With Malcolm practically in our trunk, believe me, you won’t get a chance to finish it—meee…” His words trailed off into a needy moan when Dean’s squeezed him through the denim.

“You underestimate me, babe,” Dean said. “Unbutton your jeans.”

Sam shot another look over his shoulder.

“You know you want to.” Dean didn’t take his eyes from the road, steering the Impala one-handed.

“Fuck,” Sam breathed. He squirmed in his seat for a moment, undid his jeans and pushed them down to give Dean access. The musky scent of Sam’s arousal filled the car. Dean licked his lips, his own cock stirred with interest. He spared a quick glance at his brother, getting a flash of flushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes, and Sam’s perfect white teeth biting down on his bottom lip as Dean closed his hand around the hot length of Sam’s dick. He jacked it a couple of times, feeling Sam buck into his hand.

“Nuh! I…fucking hate you… sometimes,” Sam panted.

“ _Sure_ , you do,” Dean slid the edge of his thumbnail into the deep slit at the tip of Sam’s cock, suppressed a grin when Sam whimpered. “This hard cock tells me different, Sammy. This hard, wet, _needy_ cock…” Dean punctuated each word with a stroke of his hand. “Tells it like it really is. You want me to make you come so bad. Say it, Sammy. Say you want to come and that your sweet, tight ass is all mine, tonight.”

“Fuck, Dean! I’m gonna… Please! Yeah, I wanna come…I wanna, please!”

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror at the SUV practically riding his bumper. He grinned. “ _And_?”

“Fu…you know, Dean! You fucking know you can have me, anytime. Please just…I need to…”

Dean laughed low in his throat and brought his brother off with a practiced twist of his wrist. The warm, wet slick spurted over Dean’s hand, coating his fingers and Sam’s thighs with come. Dean smirked, shot Sam a look. “You’re the one who needs those baby wipes now.”

“Bite me.” Sam looked shattered, flushed, his hair disheveled his clothes in disarray.

“My work here is done.” Dean winked at Sam and then glanced in the rear view mirror.  He couldn’t see Malcolm’s face, but he could imagine. If the hunter had put together what was happening in the Impala, he must be having an uncomfortable ride right now. Dean slotted a Death Metal cassette into the 8 track and blasted the music as a triumphal fanfare.

 

\--

 

They passed another hour listening to heavy metal, the miles rolling under Baby’s wheels, while the music and the road lulled Sam into a light doze. Dean allowed his mind to switch off. Driving on auto-pilot for the most part until they passed a billboard advertising a Travel Center. He reached over and smacked Sam’s arm. “Hey! Got a stop comin’ up. Text Malcolm and let him know we’re gonna pull over. I want a shower and you probably want a change of clothes.”

“You made the mess,” Sam grumbled. He grabbed Dean’s phone off the dash and typed a message. “I told him you need to pee.” He flashed a shit-eating grin at Dean.

“Screw you.” Dean pulled the Impala into the truck stop and cut the engine, climbing out to stretch and ease his neck and shoulders.

“You okay?” Sam went to the trunk.

“I’m good, babe.” Dean joined Sam, grabbing his duffel. He glanced up as Malcolm headed towards them. “You’d better scram, little brother. Unless you _want_ him to see the state you’re in.”

“D’you think he knows what we were doing?”

“The way he was tailgating?”

Sam blushed, picked up his bag and took off. Dean leaned on the Impala’s rear fender as Malcolm came up to him.  
  
“Your driving was a little erratic back there.”

“Sammy spilled a can of soda in his lap. I was helping to clean it up.”

“Right.”

“Seriously. Sugar on my leather upholstery?” Dean shook his head.

“Maybe you should stop the car next time. Wouldn’t want you being pulled over by the cops, or running off the road.”

“I’m good at multi-tasking.” Dean jerked his head towards the truck stop. “Showers at this chain are usually clean. Only nine bucks. Less if you wanna fuel up that gas guzzler of yours.”

“Bet she runs cheaper than this tank.” Malcolm nodded at the Impala.

“So, my Baby has expensive tastes.” Dean patted the fender affectionately. “I don’t hold that against her.”

“Why don’t you get a shower and I’ll order the coffee and something to eat?”

Dean hit Malcolm with the ‘full-service’ Winchester eyes and smile. “You sure you don’t wanna _come_?” 

Malcolm narrowed his eyes and took a half-step into Dean’s personal space. “Don’t play games with me, boy.” The edge of warning in his tone was unmistakable.

Dean licked his lips, took a side-step, opening a gap between them. He picked up his bag and headed inside.

They had the showers to themselves this late in the day. Dean took the stall next to Sam. “He definitely saw,” Dean said as he turned on the water and stripped out of his clothes. No doubt about that. Got him all worked up, too.”

Sam groaned. “God, Dean! Why do you want to provoke him? You know, I wouldn’t blame him if he paddled your ass, just for the hell of it.”

“I don’t think _paddling_ is what he has in mind. I told him you spilled a can of soda. Stick with the cover story, it’ll  be good.” Dean laughed. “Hey, do you remember the time we told Cas something like that? He said it was probably a good thing, because the soda didn’t smell right to him.” Dean’s laughter died on a choked gasp as the realization that Castiel wasn’t just a phone call away crashed in on him.

“You know, maybe you should cut Malcolm some slack.”

Dean turned the hot water all the way up to distract himself from the twisting pain in his chest. He gasped, the near too-hot water stinging his neck and shoulders, scalding away the tears.

_Not dead. He’s not dead. You’re not dead, Cas! You’re not, okay? Just… call me._

A flash of memory, sudden and sharp, lit up Dean’s mind. A conversation with Castiel from about five years earlier.

 _“And at best, I die trying to fix my own stupid mistake. Or… I don’t die—I’m brought back again. I see now. It’s a punishment, resurrection. It’s worse, every time."_ *

Dean sobbed quietly, the sound hidden by the shower.

_It wasn’t always though, was it? I mean, sometimes it was okay. You were happy. You **wanted** to be here, right? It wasn’t always awful, was it Cas?  Because I gotta believe that, y’know? That this last time, at least, you came back because you wanted to. That you… That we… That it meant something._

 Pressing his forehead against the tiled wall, Dean shook with the effort to hold the grief inside.

_You said you love me! When Ramiel stabbed you. You clung to life. You said you love me. You don’t get to say that, and just check out._

Dean heard the sound of a door opening, and Malcolm’s voice calling “Boys?”

Dean cleared his throat,  pushed away from the wall and scrubbed his face with both hands. “Yeah, comin’.” He turned off the shower and reached for a towel.

\--

When Dean emerged from the stall, Malcolm was waiting for him, leaning against the counter in front of a bank of mirrors. He met Dean’s eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m… fine.” Dean took  an electric shaver from his bag and plugged it in.

“Not how it looks from here.” Malcolm folded his arms across his chest. “Whatever’s eating at you, you need to set it aside or someone’s gonna wind up hurt on this hunt.”

“Some things you can’t just set aside that easy,” Dean replied.

“M’not sayin’ you gotta forget, Dean. But you look like you’re ready to fall apart. You’re grieving. I get that. But there’s life goin’ on around you. Your brother, for one.”

“I’m looking out for Sammy.” Dean turned to Malcolm. “You don’t have to worry. When it’s time to hunt, I’ll  be on my game.”

Malcolm didn’t look  convinced. He studied Dean for a long moment before he nodded. “’Kay, if you say so.” He gestured towards the doors. “Food’ll be gettin’ cold.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I’m just gonna pack our stuff back in the car.”

Malcolm sighed and walked out of the bathroom.

* * *

 

* Quoted from 7x23  _Survival of the Fittest_


	12. Chapter 12

Having learned that it may be possible to cure a newly turned vampire, it seemed that all of Malcolm's beliefs about getting adequate rest flew out the window. Apart from short breaks, he'd pushed Sam and Dean to drive long into the night, finally calling a five hour rest stop at a motel outside Rulison Colorado.

Dean fell into bed, aching with fatigue, and was out moments after his head hit the pillows. His sleep was not untroubled.

_ He searched along dark deserted streets, tramping through pouring rain. Soaked to the skin, shivering with cold. His teeth chattered as he peered into every doorway and alley. Every moment counted, he knew, and yet he couldn't make himself move any faster. His feet were like lead weights, every step akin to pulling his foot from sucking mud. _

_ "Cas?" He called, pausing to listen for a response. Only pattering rain and a distant keening wind greeted his ears. _

_ He trudged through the washed out gray-scale of purgatory. Machete in hand, his heart pounding, senses on high alert for attack from any quarter. Alone, aching, chilled and weary he pushed on only because stopping was certain death. _

_ "Cas?!" _

_ "No angels here, Bra." _

_ Benny Lafitte lounged against the bole of a tree. He smiled when Dean looked up.  _ _ "This is a place where angels fear to tread." _

_ "I gotta find him." Dean's voice sounded rough and rusty the way it was when he rose from the grave after his year in hell. "I need him!" _

_ Benny smiled, shrugged, studied the toe of his boot. "You got to look outside," he said. "Ain't no place for an angel, here." _

_ "Benny…" Dean began, but the vampire had vanished. _

_ In his place stood Castiel. _

_ "Cas!" Every fiber of Dean's soul vibrated with sudden, exquisite joy. _

_ The angel smirked. "Guess again." _

_ Lucifer. Dean closed his eyes against the smug expression, so foreign to Castiel's features. _

_ "You won't find him, Dean. You may as well give up. Castiel… Poor, sniveling moon-calf, lovelorn,  _ **_stupid_ ** _ Castiel, is gone." _

_ "According to you," Dean replied. "But your track record for killing Cas is kinda lousy, y'know? So, if you don't mind--in fact whether you mind or not, I'm gonna keep lookin' for him and I  _ **_will_ ** _ find him. You can bet your wings on that, asshole." _

_ Lucifer sighed. "Dean, Dean… Such a waste. I actually liked the idea of you as a demon. I might have knighted you, in time. But…" He wrinkled his nose. "You're flawed. You  _ **_feel_ ** _ too much. that's fatal for demons yakno! Just ask Crowley. Oh! I forgot, he's dead too. You're running out of allies, Dean. And…" He spread his arms, hands palms up. "Daddy's back in town!" _

_ Dean scoffed. "Actually? You're not. Forgotten that we trapped your ass already?" _

_ "Details!" Lucifer made a dismissive gesture. "You know what they say about details, Dean?" He stepped forward, closing the gap between them and leaned close to whisper into Dean's ear. "I'm  _ **_in_ ** _ them!" _

Dean woke with a start, bathed in sweat, his heart racing. He sat up and swiped a palm across his face.

"Dean? You okay?" Sam stood framed in the bathroom door, his face half lathered with shaving cream, the other cheek already clean shaven.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. What time is it?"

"A little after seven. I was gonna call you as soon as I finished up."

"Don't know why you can't join the modern world and use an electric shaver," Dean growled.

"I like a closer shave," Sam said. "I get to shave less often that way."

"What you  _ mean _ to say is you're a lazy-ass bitch." Dean got out of bed. "Step aside, I need to piss."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he got out of the way. "So, Malcolm texted a few minutes ago. He'll meet us at the diner in town. Said he'll order breakfast."

Dean nodded, moved to the faucet to wash his hands. "Only nine more hours to the camping grounds," he said. "We can finally get this hunt over with and get back on the road."

Sam frowned at Dean through the mirror. "It might not be that cut and dry, Dean. Maybe if you stopped trying to hold Malcolm at arm's length, and…"

"Save it." Dean snapped. He turned on the shower and stripped out of his t-shirt and boxers.

\--

"Remind me never to stop at  _ that  _ diner again," Dean said as he and Sam crossed the parking lot towards the Impala. "I like coffee for breakfast, not caffeinated soup!"   


Sam chuckled. "It wasn't that bad. Did you ever stop to think you're just a coffee snob?"

"Whatever," Dean scoffed. He glanced around, "Where'd Malcolm get to?"

Sam lifted one shoulder. "Wouldn't blame him if he took off back to his ranch, the way you behaved over breakfast." He shook his head. "Look, I think I saw a Starbucks on the main street. I'm gonna go get you some decent coffee. Why don't you see if you can find Malcolm… and Dean? Go easy on him, huh? This is a big adjustment for him."

Dean shot his brother a withering look, but he didn't argue. He turned back towards the diner.

There was no sign of Malcolm in the dining room, or the men's room. Frowning, Dean returned to the parking lot. He spotted the older hunter leaning against the door of his truck, cell phone to his ear, deep in conversation. Dean approached to a polite distance and waited.

Malcolm ended his call after a couple of minutes and gestured to Dean. "That was Fox," He said. "No more news on the vamps. No more killin's at least." He frowned. 

"Well, they tend to hole up if they've got newly turned nest mates," Dean said. "Makes our theory stronger." He looked Malcolm over. "You okay? You look beat."

Malcolm let out a breath, turning his head to gaze along the road in the direction they were headed. "I didn't sleep well."

"Common problem." Dean moved to lean on the truck at Malcolm's side. "Goes with this life."

"Dean?" Malcolm half turned towards him. "I…" Blue eyes studied Dean's face carefully as the man seemed to mull over what he wanted to say. "I know you."

"Yeah… That's what we've been trying to tell…"

"No." Malcolm shook  his head. "I mean, I  _ know _ you. I don't remember everything in detail but I…" He faltered. "Last night, I…"

Dean stepped back, but Malcolm gripped his arm. 

"Don't run from me. Please."

"Look, Malcolm, I…" Dean's words were smothered as Malcolm pulled him in and crushed his mouth to Dean's in a fierce kiss."

"I love you," Malcolm breathed when he pulled back. "Dean, I…"

_"Fuck!"_ Dean pulled free, stumbled backwards. "No! Mal…" He shook his head. "I can't…" Turning on his heel, Dean blindly made his way back to the Impala. He got in, slammed the door, locked it, and rested his forehead against the steering wheel. _Fuck, fuck fuck._ "FUCK!" Dean sat back, slammed the palm of his hand against the wheel.

A moment later the passenger door opened and Sam got into the car. "Find Malcolm?"

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother. 

"What?"

"Nothin'." He took a cup of coffee and gulped a mouthful, scalding his tongue. "Fuck."

Sam frowned. "What happened?" 

"He said he loves me."

"Oh. Well...that's a leap from not even remembering you."

Dean rubbed his forehead with one hand. "I told you from the start this was a bad idea, Sammy."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't  _ do anything!" _ Dean growled. "I went lookin' for him, like you said and when I found him he starts talking about how he  _ knows _ me and then he kissed me and said he loves me."

Sam said nothing.

Dean glanced sideways at him. "Sammy, I swear, if you start giving me attitude about this…"

"No. No, I...I'm not, I won't." Sam sighed.

"All I've ever wanted, is a simple life," Dean said. "It's not a whole lot to ask for. I want to hunt, I want to help people, I want to carry on just the way Dad raised me to do. But doesn't seem to matter what I do, life gets screwed up in a hundred new and novel ways every week!"  
  
To Dean's annoyance, Sam laughed. "C'mon, Dean, that's pretty melodramatic, even for you."

"What? Whaddya mean, melodramatic. I'm not melodramatic!"  
  
"You really are, sometimes." Sam smiled. "So, Malcolm kissed you and said he loves you. He did, Dean. Back then. Dude, you were practically  _ married _ to the guy!"

"That was a lifetime ago, Sam. A life I don't want to go back to."

"I think somewhere, maybe a part of you so deep you don't even see it, you  _ do  _ want to, Dean, and that's not a bad thing." Sam watched him for a moment and then turned away, looking out of the window. "I still think you should cut Malcolm a little slack. Give him some time to process all of this. He had feelings for you, and those feelings are valid. What did you do when he opened up to you? No, I can guess. You threw his feelings in his face and took off."

Dean bowed his head. He picked at the paper sleeve around his takeout coffee cup. 

"Dean…"

"Shut up."

"No." Sam turned to look at him again. "Go and at least talk to him. I'm not saying you have to  _ go back _ to him, Dean, but you owe him a proper hearing at least."

"Jesus! All right!" Dean got out of the car and walked to Malcolm's truck. The older man sat in the cabin, staring blankly through the windshield. 

He started when Dean knocked on the window, turning red rimmed eyes to look at him. He frowned and rolled the window down. "You boys ready to get movin'?"

"Uh… No." Dean shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "We thought, maybe we should… well,  _ Sam _ thought you and I should…"

"It's okay, Dean."

"No, it's really not. I acted like an ass and I'm sorry."

Malcolm huffed with wry amusement. "I kinda blind-sided you, I guess."

"A little," Dean said. "C'mon, let's regroup, huh?"   
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

If the waitress was surprised to see Dean and Malcolm come back into the diner, she gave no indication of it. Malcolm made a beeline for the bathroom and Dean found an empty booth at the end of the dining room and slid into it. When the waitress came by with coffee, he asked her to leave the pot.

Glancing out of the window, Dean saw Sam tying on his running shoes. Dean watched as his brother warmed up with some stretches and then jogged away down the street. The kid couldn't sit still five minutes. Dean allowed a small, fond smile, turning to look up when Malcolm slipped into the seat opposite.

Neither man spoke until coffee had been poured, sugar added.

"Look, Dean, I think I owe you an apology," Malcolm began.

"No." Dean shook his head. "You didn't do anything wrong. You had no reason to expect…"

"What? No reason to expect nothin's changed?" Malcolm scoffed. "I'm remembering our relationship. To me, it feels like you were in my bed yesterday. For you, though, it's been two-three years? You've had time to get over me. Maybe kissin' you wasn't the wrong thing to do, but it was presumptuous."

Dean shrugged, passed a hand across his mouth in an unconscious gesture. "You had no reason to expect the reaction you got."

"I think maybe I got exactly the reaction I should have got. I think my declaration was misguided at best."

Dean looked into Malcolm's eyes. "For the record? I never got over you." He swallowed hard. "Maybe I never talked about you, maybe I pushed thoughts of you out of my head, but…"

"You thought I was living the dream, didn't you, Dean?"

"That's what I was told. You were supposed to have the life that I never could. That safe, apple pie, normal life. You and Fox."

Malcolm chuckled. "Me and Fox." A shake of his head. "Still can't get over that notion."

"It _was_ kinda stupid, I guess."

"No. It was considerate. Fox is a good man. He's just a little tame for me… I like a challenge. Marcus was one fine man but we fought like hell at times over the stupidest things."

Dean smiled a little. "Yeah, you told me about some of those."

"Was the same with you," Malcolm said.

"We had our moments." Dean sighed. "Sam wanted Fox to be with you. He wasn't gonna leave otherwise. He figured Fox would be safer with you than on his own." He looked up sharply. "That don't mean either of us blames you for anything that happened to him."

"That was just dumb luck," Malcolm replied. "Could happen to any hunter."

"It's gonna be tough for Sam, seein' Fox again." He glanced up as the waitress paused at their booth, order pad in hand. "Could I get a slice of that cherry pie?"

"Sure thing, honey!" The waitress winked and bustled away.

"What is it with you and Sam, and flirting waitresses?"

Dean chuckled. "Good genes, I guess. Dad had a girl in every state, too."

"I'll bet." A pause. "So, tell me, you think we've got a chance to save those kids, or is it a lost cause and we're on our way to a mass cullin'?"

"The cure works," Dean said. "If you get there in time and the victim's willing to take it."

Malcolm nodded. "You boys… When I didn't know about…" he made a gesture. "Anyway, folks used to talk about how the Winchesters got things done. Not always conventional or what-not. I mean, I don't know of any other hunters who've worked with both angels and demons…"

"Yeah, and we've had our share of monumental fuck ups. We opened the gates of hell, we raised the devil, released the darkness. Cas, our...friend? Released Leviathans on the world and thought he was God."

"You three sure know how to go that extra mile!" Malcolm chuckled.

Dean let out a surprised bark of laughter. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't looking at us through lenses that are a bit too rosy."

"Me? Oh, no, boy. Pretty sure I know you two can be a heap of trouble at the same time as doin' a heap'a'good."

Dean smiled, his gaze dropping to the table-top. "We used to laugh, Sammy and me. 'Cause you'd say that all the time. 'Well, that's not gonna do a heap'a'good, boy!' or 'eat this, it'll do ya a heap'a'good!'"

Malcolm laughed. "Well, hell, boy! That don't sound like me at all! Where's my rough tough image I've worked so hard to build?"

Dean laughed with him as some of the tension between them eased.

At another table, two middle-aged women clucked their tongues and murmured about the noise Dean and Malcolm were making. Malcolm turned to look over his shoulder at them. "Howdy, Ma'am, ma'am. Sorry if we soured all that cream cake you two are eatin' with our racket." He turned back to Dean. "Maybe we oughta mosey along before they have us thrown out."

Dean nodded. He looked into Malcolm's eyes. "Why haven't you… I mean...is there anyone special for you?"

"Naw. I mostly keep myself to the ranch nowadays."

"You should get out more. Not like you're hard to look at, there must be boys at the club who…"

Malcolm shook his head. "I go there to play. I've got a flogger I put to good use there to release the tension. It works for me. Haven't had an eye for anyone really, till… well…" He shrugged. "Maybe we should go find your brother."

"You can't just…" Dean shook his head. "Yeah. If I know Sammy he's holed up in the local library. He's probably stammering and blushing and making an idiot of himself with some local chick who flirted with him. Better go rescue the giant dork."

The waitress appeared at that moment with Dean's pie.

"Oh." Dean bit his lip. "D'you think you could do that to go?"

Malcolm gave the woman an apologetic smile and handed her a twenty. "Keep the change, honey."

They followed the waitress back to the counter. Malcolm laid a hand on Dean's shoulder leaning close to murmur next to his ear. "I'm probably gonna keep slippin' up, so you know, if you could be patient…"

Dean glanced up at him. "I'll probably screw up too. Let's both try cutting each other a little slack." He smiled and looked away. The man he'd just been talking with was more like the Malcolm Dean remembered. He closed his eyes at a twinge of regret and gave himself a small shake, putting on a brave face when the waitress handed him his boxed slice of pie.

\---

One hour, and seventy miles later, Dean stared ahead at the road, his hands steady on the wheel while his mind mulled over the years since he and Sam had left Malcolm's ranch. In all that time, apart from Castiel being with them on hunts, it had been just Sam and Dean. The 'family business.' Granted, that business looked a lot different these days, to what it had been when John Winchester was alive, or even in the early days after his death. Hunting, as a whole had changed. What with hunters developing new methods, the information Sam and Dean had shared from the bunker's archives, and, hell, just plain evolution on the part of the freaks and ghouls they hunted. Yet, one thing had remained constant in that whole span of time. Sam's need for Dean to be exclusive to him.

 _Sammy'd_ _blow a gasket if I so much as glanced at another guy,_ Dean mused. _There was that whole thing when he thought that me and Cas… Man, I thought the kid was gonna stroke out on me...and let's not even get started on the shit storm when he found out about Crowley and demon-me…_

In fact, Sam would never once have dreamed of _suggesting_ Dean hook up with another man.

"Exactly…" Dean murmured.

Sam looked at him from the passenger seat. "What, exactly?"

Dean continued to stare fixedly ahead, not responding to Sam.

"Dean?" Sam snapped his fingers under his brother's nose.

"Wha?" A quick glance at him before Dean turned his attention back to the road.

"You said 'exactly.'" Sam frowned. "Exactly, what?"

Dean shrugged. "Nothin'. Just thinking out loud."

"You've been a bit quiet. Did the chat with Malcolm not go well?"

"It was okay. He tried to apologize, I told him there's no need to." Dean went quiet again, his eyes going distant and they drove another half-mile in silence.

"Did you just see that cat?" Sam said into the silence. "It had a donut in it's mouth!"

Dean shot him an incredulous look. "You been into the beer supplies?"

"Just checking that you're actually on the planet," Sam said. He sighed when that was met with distracted silence. "Dean, what's actually eating on you?"

"I was thinkin' maybe once we get done with these vamps, we should stop in at the bunker. You know, in case... Maybe. I dunno, maybe Cas would go there if...

Sam shook his head at the obvious avoidance tactic. "Sure, sounds like a plan."

"I mean, I know it's still a mess there, but…"

"No, you're right, we should go back. There's a lot of stuff there that we use."

"Just want you to be sure about it. You know, after all, it almost became our tomb."

Sam scoffed. "That could happen anywhere."

Dean glanced at him, opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, fixing his gaze ahead.

"C'mon, Dean, spill!"

"I don't get it."

"Get what?"

Dean made a vague gesture. "This whole deal. You."

"What? What about me?"

"The whole reason we left the ranch to begin with was because you couldn't deal." Dean scowled, huffed a breath. "Ever since then, if I so much as looked at another guy you went full bitch. Girls, that was different, you said. Now Malcolm comes on the scene and you're throwing me at him."

"I'm not throwing you at him!" Sam growled. "And what the fuck? Don't you pin this whole sorry mess on me! I was dealing. It wasn't easy, but I was dealing. I had Fox when you were with Malcolm."

Dean let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Dealing? S'that what you call it? You bitched about it as least ten times a week. How you never go to be with me!"

"Whatever. Fuck you, Dean."

"Uh-huh. Truth sting a little? Anyway, that's not even the point. We left, we got out of his life, and you've had me to yourself for nearly three years. So, Why? Why're you so determined to get him and me back together?"

"Because, Dean, you're dying inside and you're too stupid to realise it."

Dean turned to glare at him. "The fuck you mean by that?!"

"Oh, come on! You've been beside me for these two-years-and-change, but there's this huge void, Dean. You think I don't know you tried to throw your life away with that mark because of some fucked up death wish? I can't get through to you, Dean, no matter what I do. Sometimes I feel like your lover, sometimes I feel like your brother, but a lot of the damned time I feel like the second prize you never really wanted!"

Dean scoffed. "You think Malcolm's gonna fix that? Because he can't, Sam. No one can. I'm broken. I've been broken since I was four years old." Dean's hands flexed on the wheel. "It can't be fixed."

"You are _not_ broken, Dean. You're damaged maybe, and we were both hurt by shit that was out of our control...but, that man back there in that truck has always been a balm that I can't hope to be."

Dean shook his head. His hands so tight on the wheel that the white of his knuckles showed through. "You're wrong about one thing, Sammy. There's never been a time when I didn't want you. Sure, there were times I wished I didn't have to be _everything_ to you. It's...it was hard, Sammy, and it was more than I could carry on my own, and some days I fucking _hated_ it. But that wasn't you and it was never _on_ you."

"Dad put that on you, Dean. I get that it suffocated you at times. I'm sorry for it all, but that's just words. I appreciate the years you gave to me, but I don't need a mom and dad anymore. I've pretty much been standing on my own two feet since I was fourteen. I need you to be… I need you sane. I can't get you there, though. You need a man like Malcolm, someone who knows how to bring you down."

Dean shook his head but didn't say anything. They drove another mile in strained silence.

"I'm not going back," Dean said.

"What?"

"I can't. I won't. I'm not gonna give myself to another relationship, Sam. Even if he hadn't changed and he _has_ ...but even if he was exactly the same man he was before, I wouldn't go back. The crap we're facing? Lucifer, the Nephilim? We don't know how we're gonna do this. We don't know if we'll even survive." He glanced at Sam. "I won't do that to him. I lo… I care about him too much to do that." He looked to the road. "Okay, so maybe you don't need a parent anymore. I've known that for a while. Hard for me to let that go…" a slight quirk of his lips, "but you've proven it enough times. You still need _me_ though. You need all of me, and maybe I can't give you _that_ but I can give you as much of me as I can, and that means I can't stretch myself to him too."

Sam blew out an annoyed huff and shuffled down against the window, closing his eyes. "Whatever."

"Yeah, you can hide behind your hair, babe. S'not gonna change anythin'."

Sam bolted up, rounding on Dean, almost snarling through the tracks of tears on his cheeks. "Because I _need_ you? How d'you think that makes me feel?"

"What? You need me--I need you! What's the problem with that?"

"I don't _want_ you to choose me out of some fucked up sense of _loyalty_ Dean! I want you to choose out of love."

"Those are the same thing. Fuck! I don't know, Sam! What do you want me to say? You _know_ words aren't my thing."

"So I'm supposed to be a fucking mind reader because you're too anal to open your goddamned mouth?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Sam! When I do open my mouth you bitch, when I _don't_ you _still_ bitch!" Dean turned to him, waving one hand for emphasis. "What the FUCK do you want from me?!"

Malcolm's blaring horn and flashing lights from behind them, made Dean turn to the road, correcting the Impala from where it had veered into the path of oncoming traffic. He muttered a curse, pulled the car onto the verge and stopped.

"Out!" Dean growled. "You like Malcolm so fucking much you can go ride with him."

Sam stared in open mouthed silence. He blinked in surprise.

"You heard me."

Snorting, Sam shook his head. "Typical." He opened the door and climbed out, leaning in to scowl at Dean. "You keep pushing people away. That's the one thing you excel at. You pushed Malcolm and he kept coming back. We all keep coming back, because for some stupid, fucked up reason we care about you!" Sam slammed the door and turned to walk back to Malcolm's truck which had pulled in behind the Impala. He winced when Dean took off with a howl of rubber and a scattering of gravel that stung his legs despite the jeans he wore. Sam put a hand on the door of the truck, gazing after the Impala for a moment before he opened the door.

"Take it you need a ride," Malcolm said.

Sam rolled his eyes, climbed up into the cabin. "I don't think he's about to turn around."

"You two have words?"

"Nope. Dean doesn't use words."

"I recall times where he shut down on me. No-one does self-hatred better than Dean."

"Oh, no he didn't shut down. He talks plenty, he just doesn't _say anything!"_

"And he let you have it with both barrels I'm guessin'." Malcolm pulled out onto the highway again, trailing the Impala as it receded into the distance.

"He's gonna get himself killed," Sam murmured. "And he _thinks_ he's doing it for all the right reasons."

"Well, let's just see if he burns that temper out before it comes to that," Malcolm said. He kept the truck at a maddeningly safe distance behind Dean.

Sam huffed a breath. "Sometimes I hate him."

Malcolm nodded. "Yeah. Love'll do that to ya."

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it has been a little while since I updated this story. I've been busy with rehearsals and now performances for a theater show I am in.  
> Here is a nice long chapter to tide you over.  
> Not sure when I will get a chance to write for the next few weeks, so I hope this helps.  
> Please leave a comment if you enjoy this chapter or even if you have questions.
> 
> Lovers and strangers and BEARS oh my!

Malcolm carefully parked his truck alongside the Impala and Sam climbed out, waiting for Malcolm to join him. He glanced into Dean’s car.

Dean was sprawled out across the front seat, his booted feet propped on the open passenger window, his right hand loosely clasped around the neck of a half empty fifth of whiskey. He snored softly.

“See,” Malcolm said. “Didn’t’ I tell you he’d burn off that temper by the time he got here?”

Sam shook his head. “He’s wasted.” He leaned in through the driver’s window and hit the Impala’s horn.

Dean startled awake, splashing himself with whiskey as he sat up, cursing. “What the…fuck you, Sam!”

Sam scowled. “It’s not even five o’clock, Dean!”

“It is somewhere in the country.” Dean capped the whiskey bottle and climbed out of the car, headed to the trunk.

“I take it you had a word with the ranger while you were waitin’ for us?” Malcolm said.

“The ranger wasn’t here when I arrived. Figured I’d catch up on my 7.5 hours.”

 Malcolm ignored that, walking towards the office.

“So, you two getting married, now, Sammy?” Dean stripped to the waist, rummaged through his duffel for a clean shirt.

“Blow me.”

“You’re all out of luck.” Dean slammed the lid of the trunk and pulled the clean shirt over his head just as a forestry truck pulled into the small parking area and the ranger headed into the office building.  
  
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Sam turned and headed into the office.

“We were sent up here by animal control,” Malcolm said as Sam entered. “Hear you’ve had some trouble with bears?”

“That’s what they’re calling it,” the ranger replied. He glanced at Sam. “Didn’t think we needed any professional hunters to take care of one rogue black bear, though.”

“We don’t mean to tread on anyone’s toes,” Malcolm replied. “Just go where we’re told to go.” He smiled, indicated Sam with a gesture. “This is one of my boys,” he said. “He’s our tracker. You got anything out there that leaves any kind of spoor, Sam’s your man.” He paused as Dean shuffled inside. “And this is Dean, he’s our weapons guy.”

The ranger flicked both Winchesters a glance and then turned back to Malcolm. “You know, I’m not happy about this. Bears bein’ hunted down. They’re only doin’ what bears do, and it’s us muscling in on their territory.” He paused. “Besides, in this case, the bear’s just a scapegoat.”

“Oh?” Malcolm quirked an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“I’ve been a ranger a long time,” the guy said. “Seen my share of deer and other animals mauled by bears. These kids though?” He shook  his head. “I don’t think a black bear’s gonna take on a whole group of humans and… it was too… neat. Those kids weren’t mauled. Hardly any blood around…”

“The newspaper said something about some kind of devil worship?” Sam took a half step forward. “Do you know anything about that?”

“Not a lot.” The ranger shrugged,  “but even _that_ makes more sense than sayin’ it was a bear.”

“Why would anyone suggest devil worship,” Sam pressed. “Not saying I believe it,” he added. “Just seems like a strange thing to come out with?”

“There’s been stories about that kind of thing out here in the past.” The ranger moved to sit behind his desk. “Mostly kids tryin’ to spook each other. I don’t think there’s really anything in it, but…”

No one spoke for a moment, letting the silence invite more information.

After a moment, the ranger sighed. “Sometimes, we find stuff. Things left behind. Animal bones, and black candles and silly stuff. Probably just kids messing around.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.

“Sounds more like witchcraft than devil worship,” Malcolm said, drawing alarmed looks from the Winchesters. He briefly met Dean’s and then Sam’s eyes, gave a tiny, taut nod and turned back to the ranger.

“Well…now that you mention it…” The ranger looked from one to another, his expression wary. “You’ll  probably just think this is crazy talk…”

“We won’t,” Sam assured him. “We hear all kinds of weird stuff in our travels.”

The ranger nodded, seemed to reach a decision. “Okay, so I personally believe there’s a convent around here…”

“Convent?” Malcolm frowned.

“Yeah, you know, a group of witches.”

“You mean a coven.” Sam said.

“Yeah, whatever they call it.” The ranger nodded. “We find those campsites sometimes. With the candles and bones and other stuff. Usually just clean it up and get on with whatever else we got to do.”

“But?” Malcolm prodded.

“Oh, no buts. I’m just mentioning it, is all. Maybe that’s where the papers got wind of devil worship or whatever. The ranger who was on duty the day those kids were found. He’s a kid himself. Probably ran his mouth.”

Malcolm nodded and took a step towards the door. “Well, we won’t take up any more of your time. We’ll head up the trail, take a look around, see if there’s anything we need to do.”

The ranger nodded. “Sure. But you know? I’d appreciate it if you could tell whoever sent you that that bear’s moved on. It’s just not right, shootin’ a healthy animal that’s done nothing wrong.”

Malcolm nodded and stepped outside, Sam and Dean close on his heels.

“What, we dealing with Vamps _and_ witches now?” Dean shook his head.

“Maybe,” Malcolm said. “Or vampire witches…not unheard of for vamps to be into magic. Can help to lure bored kids in.”

“The sire of that nest who turned you was pretty much a warlock too,” Sam added.

Dean shook his head. “I miss the old days, before creeps started to diversify.”

“And I prefer my huntin’ partners to be sober,” Malcolm said. “We had a good hour of daylight left, Dean. Coulda gone up there and had a look around, instead of leaving the site for another night, with whatever the hell walking through there messin’ up any evidence.”

“I’m sober.”

“Barely!” Malcolm scowled and stalked away across the parking lot. “We’ll find some place to stay in town tonight and get an early start tomorrow.”

“Aw c’mon!” Dean followed him. “I’m fine, Malcolm. If you wanna go up there, okay, let’s go!”

“I _said_ we’re goin’ back to town. You gonna work with me, you’re gonna work my way. This is what I do, Dean! I hunt vampires and I’m damned good at it. I wasn’t living some apple pie life while you and that brother of yours were off raisin’ up a shit-storm.” He turned to face Dean. “I’m not a Winchester. I’m not John, or Sam, or the almighty fucking Dean. I’m pretty far down the food chain for you, ain’t I, boy? You can work with me, or not. Your choice, I ain’t forcing you…but…” He stepped into Dean’s space. “Don’t you even think of lookin’ down your nose at me.”

Dean backed off a half-step. He shrugged. “Right, whatever. Oh, and by the way? That shit-storm was raised tryin’ to protect you, and everyone else from bigger, more permanent shit-storms. But fine, do it your way. Whatever gets you through the day.” He turned on his heel and walked towards where Sam waited by the Impala.

“And who started the shit-storm in the first place, Dean?”

“Oh! _That’s_ how you wanna play this?” Dean rounded on him. “I was right. You’re no different to all the others who wanna stand back and poke shit at what we do. We _own_ our mistakes, Malcolm, and we do what we can to fix ‘em! But it’s never that, that people talk about. You know what? I’m done! Go hunt your fucking vamps however you please. I’m out. Good luck.” He turned and continued towards the Impala.

“You _own_ your mistakes?!” Malcolm scoffed. “You’ve got the bald-faced cheek to stand there and say that. After what you did to Fox and me?”

Dean kept walking.

“Gonna keep runnin’, Dean? ‘Cause that’s why you really had my life wiped out, wasn’t it? You were running!”

“I saved your life,” Dean tossed over his shoulder. “You were dead—near as.”

“You think I’d want life at that cost? You didn’t even give me a choice, Dean!”

Dean’s steps faltered to a stop. He closed his eyes as a memory rushed in on him full force.

_Castiel stares at Dean in consternation. His head tips to one side, eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”_

_Consternation changes to a mix of sorrow and disbelief. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”_

 

Macolm’s voice, distant and defeated reached him faintly. “You’re _still_ not giving me a choice.”

Dean stood in the middle of the parking lot, head down, eyes closed as he fought against the rising tide of self-loathing.

_Castiel grabs the lapels of Dean’s jacket, slamming him into a wall. “I FELLI I gave up everything. Heaven! My brothers! And I did it…all of it for you, and THIS is how you repay me?!”_

“I only ever hurt people,” Dean whispered. “Cas, Malcolm, Sammy.”

_“You’re a damned liability, son.” John’s voice spoke from the shadowed corner of a dark motel room. “You let your fool heart get in the way of your head! You think too much about things that can’t matter in this life. You gotta harden up, Dean, or someone’s gonna pay the price.”_

 

“Dean?” Sam spoke softly but Dean shook his head.

“Stop.”

_“I’ve told you a thousand times, boy, and the message just doesn’t get through that thick skull of yours. Focus on the job! You can’t be worrying about Sam’s snotty nose, or whether he had enough lunch when we’re on a hunt. You’re not his fucking nursemaid! John cuffs Dean’s ear. Pay attention!_

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered.

“Dean, what?” Sam laid a hand on his shoulder bringing him out of his thoughts with a start. “Are you okay?”

Dean met Sam’s gaze and shook his head. He glanced around the parking lot, looking for Malcolm.

“Malcolm cares about you, Dean.”

“Yeah. He cares, right.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Everyone cares about me, Sammy. They all care so much it’s fucking killing me. But I’m not supposed to care in return.”

“That’s not true. Everyone wants you to care for them. I sure as hell do. I need you more than I probably should.” Sam sighed. “I need more than a brother. You care enough to give me that.”

Dean looked away. “I hunt, I fight. I kill the freaks and I focus on the job. I save people every god damned day, Sam. The best way I know how and it’s not enough. It’s just never enough.”

“It’s enough, Dean, but… it’s not just about hunting, that’s just how you hold people at bay. Focus on the job, kill  the monster of the week. You’re on auto-pilot. John Winchester’s little tin soldier. The people who love you want _you_ not some robot. That’s why you feel like it’s not enough… because… It’s _not._ You try _so_ hard, but you miss the mark, _every_ time.”

“Yeah, that sounds real noble, Sam…” Dean cast another look around the parking lot. The sun hung low in the west, and shadows lengthened across the gravel. Dean frowned. “You heard him just now. He thinks I’m a fuck-up. Just like every other hunter does.”

Somewhere behind Dean, a twig snapped just beyond the edge of the woods. Dean was instantly on the alert, his hand instinctively going for the Glock he carried, tucked into the waist of his jeans. He drew it out, flicked the safety off, cocked the gun in the direction the sound came from. “Who’s there?”

Sam followed Dean’s lead, his own gun coming to hand quickly as he sidestepped into cover behind the Impala.

“You got three seconds to show yourself or I open fire,” Dean called. He stared fixedly at a patch of scrub, certain he could make out the outline of a person standing there. As he watched, the bushes rustled, and a man … Dean couldn’t say the guy _stepped_ out. It was more like he melted out of the cover of the woods.

He was tall, maybe an inch shy of Sam’s height, with long blond hair. Dean couldn't quite figure out if the guy wore dreadlocks or braids, or both. The guy's right earlobe was pierced, adorned with a black disk the size of a quarter. His eyes, vivid blue, were fixed on Dean. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact that both Winchesters held him at gunpoint. He moved forward several paces before Dean gestured with the pistol.

“That’s far enough,  Goldilocks.”

The man halted. He looked mildly amused. He didn’t speak.

“Can we help you?” Sam said. Dean shot his brother a withering glance and turned back to the stranger.

“You’ve been tailing us since Rulison. Care to explain why?” Dean could feel Sam’s look, could practically see, without looking, the outraged disbelief on Sam’s face.

The stranger turned his attention to Sam. “I need no assistance.”

His voice was faintly accented, not quite American, Canadian nor British, but an amalgam, with something slightly European thrown in.

The guy looked back to Dean. “I have followed you longer than that.”

“You men of letters? 'Cause, in case you didn’t read the memo, we took out most of your buddies, so…”

“I am not…letter man. I am what I am.”

“Right, Popeye. You still haven’t told me who you are, or _why_ you’re following us.”

“Dean,” Sam started, but trailed off at a quelling glance from his brother.

“I’m waiting,” Dean said to the stranger. “And we don’t have a lot of time for chit-chat, because we have an old fool  who think’s he’s a god damned one man vampire killing army to sort out.”

Another amused look  from the stranger. “I don’t chit-chat,” he said. “You speak more than I do.”

Sam laughed, quickly turning the sound into a cough when Dean’s head snapped around in his direction. “He’s got a point,” Sam said with a shrug. He looked at the stranger. “So uh… um we... is there something we can help you with?” He ignored Dean’s scowl.

“I hoped you would lead me to the one I seek.”

“Look, Legolas. We don’t know you and we don’t have a lot of truck with the whole Lord of the Rings-LARP or whatever the hell you’re playing at… so I doubt we know anyone you know.”

“You seek it also,” the stranger said. He glanced up, distracted as the ranger came out of the office.

“You boys alright?” The ranger called to them.  “Where's your boss? He wouldn't have wandered off alone in these woods, right?” He pointed to a sign at the trail head warning hikers to travel in groups. “Black bears aren't too scared of humans.”

Sam waved to the guy. “We were just getting our gear. Thanks.”

“Dammit,” Dean growled low enough so only Sam could hear him. “Of course that idiot’s gone off into the woods alone…” He turned to look for the blond stranger who had seemingly melted back into the scrub.

Dean headed for the trail. “C’mon, we’d better go find Malcolm.”

“Wait!” Sam jogged a few steps to catch him up. “You said you’d seen that guy before. When? Where? Were you even going to tell me we were being followed?”

“Just when did you give me a chance to tell you _anything_ , Sam?” Dean glanced at him, but kept walking. “You were bitching from the minute you got into the damn car. We don’t have time for this, okay? Malcolm’s out there somewhere on his own…”

“He’ll be okay, Dean. It’s not like he’s five!”

“He just took off! How stupid can he be? I mean, we fight, _I_   take off. He’s the one who’s supposed to fix things.” Dean pushed a branch out of his way, almost hitting Sam in the face with it when it rebounded. “We’ve already established this nest is starving. Does he really think they’re gonna keep still  while one hunter picks ‘em off?” He turned to glare at Sam. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“He didn’t storm off, Dean.”

“No? Well he sure as hell isn’t here!”

“He can’t have gone far.” Sam stumbled over the tangled roots of a tree in the gathering dusk. “Slow down, Dean! We’re not going to be any good to Malcolm or anyone else if one of us breaks a leg out here!”

Dean huffed with annoyance, but he slowed his pace. He squinted, looking ahead of them, then glanced at the ground, looking for tracks or any signs of a struggle. “Stupid old fool,” he muttered.

“Calm down. Tell me about that guy you said was following us? I didn’t see a car.”

“I don’t know, I saw him at the diner in Rulison. I noticed him because of the hair. I meant to tell you that you lost your ‘longest hair on campus’ award, but then we got side-tracked. Dammit Mal, where are you?”

“He seemed familiar,” Sam said. “I mean, I’ve never _seen_ him before, but there was something about him. I…” He shrugged. “Weird.”

“What, the hair and the ears aren’t enough to give you the weird vibe, you gotta look for something else?”

“Shut-up, Dean! I mean there was something _about_ him. An air…attitude. I don’t know, it just…”

Dean stopped in his tracks, slapping a palm back against Sam’s chest to quiet him. Somewhere ahead, a low, menacing growl sounded. Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his car keys, jangling them loudly. “Hey!” he shouted. “Hey, bear! Go on get!”

Sam pulled his pistol from his jeans. “Fuck…you think it’s _really_ a bear _?”_

“We fight and kill ghouls, djinn, zombies and wendigos,” Dean said. “And you’re afraid of a _bear!”_

“Monsters are predictable,” Sam murmured. “Bears, not so much.” Sam stomped his feet, gave a high pitched whistle between his teeth. “Hey bear! Get lost! Go on!” The brothers edged forward, making as much noise as they could.

“Dean?” Malcolm’s voice, muted and wary reached them from further along the path.

“You okay?” Dean called back to him.

“Yeah. I’m coming to you, keep up the noise.”

Sam put his gun away, clapping his hands and stamping his feet, while Dean yelled a few expletives.

After a moment, Malcolm came around a bend in the path towards them. “It’s gone,” he said.

Dean let out a relieved breath. “You damned idiot!”

“We oughta keep moving, in case his mama’s nearby,” Malcolm said.

“You tell that ranger we’re professional hunters, here to shoot his bear and then you pull a stupid stunt like that!” Dean shook his head. “There’s a sign four feet high and just as wide at the head of the trail tellin’ you watch out for bears and hike in groups.”

“I found tracks…I got distracted.”

“You should’ve never gone off without us. It was only a bear. What if one of those vamps ambushed you?”

“I know how to kill a vampire, Dean. I didn’t _want_ to kill the bear.” Malcolm sighed. “But thanks.”

“You were distracted enough that you didn’t hear a bear cub crashing through the woods, but you could kill a vamp…right.”

“Okay!” Malcolm held his hands up in surrender. “I should’ve taken more notice of my surroundings. You’re right.” He looked into Dean’s eyes. “I mean it, though. Thanks.”

Some of the tension leached out of Dean. “So, what did you find?”

“Let’s get out of these woods while we can still see to find the parking lot,” Malcolm said. “I’ll tell you what I found over dinner.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADVISORY: The following chapter contains scenes of Bondage and Discipline. This story was tagged as that from the start, but, I am putting this warning here as a courtesy in case people didn't read the tags. It is not extreme, and I feel it advances the plot so it is important to read it.  
> This is not _"Fifty Shades of Bad BDSM"_ The scenes depicted are Safe, Sane and Consensual as all BDSM should be.
> 
> Also, this chapter was written and posted in between theater performances and is not beta'd so please forgive any errors I may have missed. I will fix them later.

Later that night, Dean lay staring at the motel ceiling while Sam quietly snored beside him. Try as he might, Dean couldn’t still his racing thoughts enough to sleep, which was odd for him because long habit, and John Winchester’s para-military training had conditioned Dean to sleep when he could. Insomnia was an infrequent visitor and when it did happen, a fifth of whiskey was usually enough to settle that argument.

Sighing, Dean rolled to his side and swung his legs out of bed.

The fact was, the afternoon’s close encounter of the Ursine kind had stirred emotions Dean had thought long buried. The idea of losing Malcolm again had shaken him to his core. When he closed his eyes, all  he could see was Malcolm, still and pale against the hospital sheets, fading by the hour as major organs began to shut down.

When Dean tried to settle into the rhythm of slumber, his mind would whirl with snatches of desperate conversation. Arguments with doctors, shouting matches with Cas, who steadfastly refused to intervene, and, finally, the last ditch—almost pleading with Crowley to help.

Dean passed the back of one hand across his mouth. He glanced over his shoulder as Sam stirred and rolled over, muttering in his sleep. Dean froze, held his breath until Sam settled again.

He sat for a few moments, waiting to see if Sam was going to wake, and then, Dean got to his feet, pulled on his jeans and padded on bare feet to the door. One last glance at his sleeping brother, and Dean stepped outside.

He hadn’t really thought about what he was going to do, but Dean wasn’t that surprised to find himself outside Malcolm’s door, lightly rapping on the wood paneling.

A light came on inside, and the door eased open a crack.

“It’s me,” Dean murmured. He heard the rattle of the security chain before Malcolm swung the door wide enough for Dean to step inside.

“Can’t sleep?” Malcolm sighed. “Me neither.”

Dean rolled his shoulders, attempting to ease the ache at the base of his neck. He startled when Malcolm stepped behind him his hands, warm and firm coming to rub at the tight muscles.

“You’re wound tighter than a two dollar watch,” Malcolm said.

“I get that way when my friends nearly get eaten by bears.”

“Friend, huh?” Malcolm worked his thumbs into the trapezius muscles. “That’s a step up from idiot.”

Dean made no reply, hissed between his teeth when Malcolm found a particularly hard knot.

“Dean, I…”

Dean turned to face Malcolm reaching up to lace his arms around the man’s neck, and pulled him into a frantic kiss. Malcolm froze for a moment, but then he took control, pushing Dean back against the door, pinning him. He caught both of Dean’s hands in his own and pushed them behind Dean’s back, holding him still while he devoured the younger man’s mouth.

Groaning low in his throat, Dean pulled his hands free, fumbling at Malcolm’s jeans until he worked the zipper open and got one hand inside, stroking the hardening cock through Malcolm’s shorts, fingers scrabbling to find a way to the hot flesh he sought.

Long moments later, Malcolm pulled back, his dark blue eyes studying Dean’s face. “Are you sure about this?”

“I need…”

“ _I need_ to know you’re not just gonna push me out again tomorrow, Dean.” Malcolm pulled in a shuddering breath. “We all had a fright earlier today, and feelings ran hot for a while,  but I can’t—I _won’t_ get tangled up in some kind of…”

“I’m sure,” Dean reached for Malcolm, but the man stepped out of reach.

“ _My_ way, Dean.” Malcolm’s eyes raked over Dean, lust unmistakable in his gaze. “Strip.”

A shudder ran through Dean at the command and he hurried to comply. Jeans, t-shirt and shorts all hit the floor in quick succession and Dean adopted a wide stance, hands automatically slipping behind his back. He held his chin high, but kept his eyes lowered.

“Damn,” Malcolm breathed. “So fucking hot.” His eyes trailed from Dean’s face, over the bare chest, hard abs and lower, to the erect cock with a glistening bead of precome at the tip. He licked his lips. “On the bed, face down. Hands where I can see ‘em. Don’t want you jerkin’ off and spoiling your appetite, boy.”

Dean’s heart set up a staccato rhythm against his ribs at Malcolm’s words. He drew in a breath, closed his eyes as a delicious shudder ran through him. He realized in that moment, just how much he had missed this man.

“You gonna move, boy, or do I gotta _put_ you on the damn bed?”

“No. I mean, yes, uh. I’m moving, Sir!” Dean scrambled onto the bed and settled on his belly. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. He heard Malcolm moving about the room, the sound of a duffel zipper. Dean bit down on his bottom lip.

“It’s a shame I don’t have my flogger with me,” Malcolm said. “Got ropes though…”

Dean made no reply. He knew better. Malcolm liked Dean to be silent unless asked a direct question. He lay quietly, waiting to know what Malcolm intended.

A warm hand closed around Dean’s left ankle. Malcolm wound smooth nylon rope around his leg and  secured with a knot.

“No time for full Shibari, tonight.” Malcolm pulled Dean’s foot to the corner of the bed then passed the rope under the foot of the mattress looping it to Dean’s other ankle, effectively spread eagling his feet. “Still, I think I can improvise a little.” He took another length of rope and  studied Dean for a moment. “Hands at your back in parade rest,” he murmured.

Dean moved his hands  releasing a sigh as Malcolm ran several coils of rope around his forearms and tied it off, then looped more of the rope around his upper arms.

“Black rope was always so pretty against your skin, sweetheart.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want to put you in suspension when we get the time.”

Dean opened his eyes, lifted his head a little, craning his neck to see Malcolm’s handiwork.

Malcolm smiled, ran a hand down Dean’s spine, over his bound wrists and lower until his palm rested warm against Dean’s buttocks. “Lie down.”

Dean settled with a groan of frustration.

“Always impatient,” Malcolm remarked. “Y’gotta learn to savor things, boy.” He lifted his hand and landed a sharp slap on Dean’s ass.

“Nuh!” Dean tensed, feeling the pull of ropes against his skin.

“Rusty?” Malcolm chuckled. He landed a second slap. “Breathe, Dean.”

Dean closed his eyes, panting. He pressed his hips forward into the mattress, seeking friction against his aching cock. “Sir…”

“Boy.” Malcolm said. He slapped Dean three times more in quick succession. “Relax, go with the pain, don’t fight it. You know all this, Dean.”

“I…”

“You.” Another two slaps. “Don’t have permission to speak.”

Dean squirmed. The place Malcolm slapped burned and tingled with the rush of blood to the area. They were not hard slaps, but Malcolm concentrated on one small area, the repeated stimulus bringing out a flush of color and heat.

“Pretty, Dean. Your skin marks up so nice. Damn, I wish I’d packed that flogger. Thing is, when I left for Jody’s place I never dreamed I was gonna find _you_ there.” He rubbed the reddened skin in a gentle circular motion.

Dean moaned, hips rocking as he rubbed his cock against the sheets. He groaned when Malcolm’s hand slid down to cup his balls, rolling them gently between his fingers.

“You want release, I know. Maybe I shoulda bound that pretty dick, too. Hm?”

“Fuck…” Dean whispered.

“We’ll get to that.” Malcolm chuckled. “I wanna try somethin’ else first.”

Standing up, Malcolm pulled the wide leather belt from around his waist. He studied the ornate buckle for a moment, his fingers tracing the outline of a rearing horse. “I remember when you gave me this belt,” he murmured. “Funny, I’ve worn it almost every day for the last three years and never once connected it with you.”

Dean closed his eyes. He’d given the belt to Malcolm as a birthday gift not long before he and Sam lit out. “I’m glad you still have it.”

Malcolm took a long, slow breath. He doubled the belt into a loop and moved to the foot of the bed. He swung the heavy leather lightly and landed a stroke across the sole of Dean’s right foot. He fell silent, focusing on his work as he landed quick, light blows, working his way from Dean’s feet to his buttocks where he allowed the strokes to land a little heavier.

Dean lay still and quiet, apart from an occasional groan or whimper when the blows became more intense. He let his mind drift, slowly sinking into that special space that Malcolm could send him to with his ropes and whips, or belt. His body relaxed, drifting in a state that was at once, fully conscious, but completely free. His heart rate slowed, breathing deepened and he became almost entranced.

When the belt licked across his shoulders and upper back, the strokes were hard enough to raise weals on his skin, but Dean barely felt them. He sighed, half opened his eyes, rolled them to look up at Malcolm who seemed to be in some other space, too. His gaze focused, stance wide, a light sheen of sweat across his brow. Dean felt a surge of some feeling he didn’t want to name.

He closed his eyes, drifted away again.

_“Dean…” Castiel’s voice, faint, urgent. “Dean, don’t despair. I’m coming.”_

 “Dean?” Malcolm’s hand rested against his shoulder and the soft utterance of his name brought him out of his meditative reverie. He opened his eyes. He felt Malcolm release the knots around his arms. Sighed as Malcolm gently massaged his shoulders and upper arms, assisted him to move them. His feet were untied next, and Malcolm, naked and hard, slipped into bed with him. They drew together, Malcolm’s mouth came down on Dean’s and he gave himself up to his lover.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta under_a_gray_cloud for helping me to like this chapter better than I did!  
> Also, there is a hint of my all pervading "Crowley is Asmodeus" head canon in this chapter, it's just a throw away line, and not integral to the story, but you can find out more about my head canon by reading On the Brink and others in my "Crowley is Asmodeus" series.

Malcolm sat on a chair outside the motel room door and lit a cigarette. He’d left Dean slumbering quietly inside, unwilling to disturb the first good sleep Dean has had in days.

Drawing the smoke deep into his lungs, Malcolm closed his eyes and exhaled.

“You don’t have enough vampires and freaks tryin’ t’kill you, but you’ve gotta do it yourself with tobacco?”

Malcolm turned to smile at Dean, who stood, tousle-headed, holding a mug of pod-machine coffee, on the threshold. “Good morning to you, too, Sunshine.”

“You know I hate it when you smoke,” Dean grumbled. He leaned on the door frame and sipped his coffee.

“Actually, that’s one of the finer details I haven’t remembered yet.” Malcolm stubbed the cigarette into a sand-filled can at his feet. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Sam hasn’t stirred as far as I can tell.”

“Oh he’s awake. If he hasn’t already jogged four miles, showered and had three kale shakes by now, there’s something seriously wrong with him,” Dean said.

Malcolm chuckled. “Healthy body,  healthy mind,” he remarked.

“So they say.” Dean drained the coffee mug and glanced along the veranda. “He’s hiding, probably. He practically threw me at you, but now he’s gonna get all awkward and stupid about it.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow, but let the comment pass. He changed the subject. “How’re you feeling? How’s your back?”

“A little sore. Nothing serious.” As he spoke, Dean rolled his shoulders.

“I’m surprised you went down so fast,” Malcolm said. “When’s the last time you had a session?”

“Three days before your birthday, three years ago,” Dean said.

Malcolm looked up, meeting Dean’s eyes. “You’re a sub. You _know_ what you need. You should never neglect those needs, Dean.”

A shrug. Dean gazed out across the parking lot. “I never had time to establish that kind of trust with someone. I can’t submit to just anyone.” He exhaled, was silent a beat or two “I missed you.”

“So, stop fighting me, boy.” Malcolm absently pulled the pack of Marlboro's and a zippo from his pocket, patently ignoring Dean’s scowl. “What we had last night. It felt…right.”

“There were times, a lot of times, I thought about coming to you,” Dean murmured. “Especially when…” He trailed off, looked down, studying his right arm for a long moment before he shook his head. “I never could find a reason to put it all back on you again.”

“Would you’ve come back, if you’d’a known I wasn’t living the fairy tale life?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t tend to think of coulda-shoulda-woulda stuff. Dad trained us not to. That kinda thinking doesn’t achieve anything.”

“Fair enough. Guess it was a stupid question at that.” Malcolm lit up and drew smoke from his cigarette. “This deal you made with the demon…” He shook his head. “He must’ve been some powerful sunnuvabitch. He woulda had to change the memories of everyone that knew you, not just me and Fox. I mean, you tell me that you me and Fox lived together at the ranch, Sam and Fox were a little bit more than bunk mates.” He blew smoke into the air. “You think Sam wants to see Fox again?”

“I think he wants to. I think he’s scared to see him too. Sam’s always had more of a conscience than me. As for Crowley? Yeah,  he was powerful. Not many people knew just _how_ powerful. Who or what he really was. I didn’t. Not until I saw him through different eyes. When I saw his true form, I understood. I never told anyone what I saw.”

“Must make it hard to sleep some nights…”

Dean gave a short, mirthless laugh. “If I allowed the things I know or the things I’ve done to keep me awake nights? I’d never get any rest!”

“Right. So you got any ideas how we get into this nest?”

“Going by the signs you found yesterday, we’re dealing with day walkers. Only one way to approach a nest of those. Hard, fast and with a lotta backup. Maybe you’d better get Fox down here, and any other locals you know.”

“Agreed.” Malcolm smiled and nodded his approval. “I’ll want to take a look at those shoulders before you head over to see Sam.”

Both men turned to watch a car pull into the parking lot. It drew up in front of Malcolm’s room.

Dean watched the driver climb out of the car. He recognized the slight build, the mop of dark curls. Dean swallowed hard as Fox turned towards them and the scarring over his left eye came into view.

“Fox,” Dean murmured.

“Yeah.”

Fox stepped onto the patio, offering Malcolm a wide, flashing grin. “Hey, _que pasa, gringo_!”

Malcolm stood and the pair greeted each other with a manly hug. When they parted, Malcolm gestured to Dean. “This is Dean Winchester,” he said.

Fox nodded, extended a hand. “I’ve heard about you and your brother,” he said.

“I’d be worried if you hadn’t.” Dean shook hands with him briefly.

“So’d you get in touch with Brien and Tod?” Malcolm asked.

Fox nodded. “Brien is on his way here, but Tod is half a state away. He said he’ll  get here as fast as he can. We might not have time to wait, though, if what you heard about curing new vampires is true. I couldn’t find anything in the lore, and I couldn’t contact Garth to confirm.”

“It’s as true as I’m standing here,” Dean said. “I was turned and now I’m…well, mostly human.”

Malcolm nodded his affirmation. “Can’t get much better than first hand evidence, Cub.”

After a moment, Fox seemed to accept that, and nodded. “Okay. So we don’t have time to wait for Tod.”

Guess the five of us will have to do then,” Malcolm said. He glanced at Dean. “You about ready to hit the road?”

“I want to check our weapons first,” Dean said. “Say, twenty minutes?”

“Fine. I’ll go see if Sam’s ready to move. Fox,  you wanna come along?”

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in posting a new chapter. I hope you will like this one.  
> I've been busy with starting a new job, enrolling in a course of study...make that TWO courses of study  
> Working on a theater project and just basically having lots on my plate.

Sam was packing freshly laundered clothing into his and Dean’s duffel bags, when there was a knock at his door. He opened it to find Malcolm on the doorstep.

“Hey,” Sam said. “I was just getting packed. Are we about ready to go?” He stepped back a little waving Malcolm inside, and then he stopped. A rush of heat, followed by what felt like a bucket of ice water washed through him as he took in the man standing just behind Malcolm.

“Sam, this is Fox,” Malcolm said.

“I uh…know.” Sam swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the scarring across Fox’s right eye. He bit his lip. “Um, I mean I…”

Malcolm studied Sam’s face for a long moment, and then glanced away. “Fox, this is Sam Winchester.” He stepped past Sam into the room. “Your brother’s just doin' a weapons check. Thought we’d come and…” He turned, looking from Sam to Fox and back.

Fox had not moved from where he stood in the doorway. Sam watched the man silently. Fox’s face had drained of color, his one good eye was narrowed. The expression of suspicion and distrust unmistakable. Sam cleared his throat, shifted from one foot to the other.  “Um. Come in?”

Fox shuffled his feet, glanced at Malcolm, his brows drawn together in a silent message Sam couldn’t decipher. After another moment of hesitation, Fox stepped inside, moving close to Malcolm.

“ _Él es el que te dije sobre_ ,” he muttered.

Fox had told Malcolm about him? Sam raised an eyebrow but Malcolm shook his head.

Sam resumed packing. “There’s a coffee machine,” he said. “Pods. Dean doesn’t usually like them, but I think they’re better than instant. Dean. He’d rather wait and drive fifty miles for a cup of ‘real’ coffee than drink that stuff. I keep telling him some day, with the amount of coffee he drinks, he’s going to stroke out or something, but of course he never listens to me… No. Not Dean alpha-male Winche….” Sam broke off. Let out a long breath, realizing he was babbling “Anyway, if you want it.” He gestured at the machine on the small counter.

Fox continued to eye him with suspicion. Sam shook his head as the younger man leaned closer to Malcolm and whispered. “ _El sueño_.”

“I can _speak_ Spanish,” Sam said. “I took a semester of it in college, and I also learned a lot from … a friend a few years ago.” He frowned at Fox. “It’s kind of rude, anyway, to speak in a foreign language in front of someone you assume only speaks English. So, what is it you dreamed about, and how do you know anything about me to tell Malcolm?”

To his credit, Fox flushed and lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing. The long drive.” He glanced at Malcolm. I…” Fox broke off and pulled his cell phone from a pocket as it rang. He thumbed the answer bar and lifted it to his ear. “Garth?” He listened, his expression growing sober. “What? When?” A nod, and a huff of breath. “I’ll pass that on.”

“What is it?” Malcolm turned to Fox when the call ended.

“More victims,” Fox replied. He glanced at Sam. “Maybe the new vampires have fed.”

“We need to get out to that park again,” Sam said. “I’m gonna load our bags in the car. Get Dean, we have to move.”

Malcolm was already on his way to the door, Fox close on his heels.”

 

\--

 

They found the nest, deep in the woods. An abandoned hut, tumbledown and dilapidated in the midst of what had once been a clearing, but was now being reclaimed by the forest.

Malcolm hunkered down behind a thicket. “This must be the place,” he hissed to Dean. “I was thinking, maybe some caves or somethin’ but why look for those when this is right here?”

Dean nodded his agreement. “Sam’n I’ll take the rear,” he murmured. You, Fox and Brien storm the front on my signal.” Without another word, he waved Sam forward, signaling him to take the far side of the rear entrance. Dean made a crouching run to the back of the hut.  When Sam was in position, Dean threw Malcolm a thumbs up and ran towards the back door. He and Sam crashed through the moldering wood at the same moment Malcolm’s group smashed in the front.

They were greeted with silence, and a stench that made Sam gag, covering his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his jacket.

“What the fuck…” Dean moved past Sam into the main room of the hut.

Bodies lay strewn across the floor. Four males, two females, and two unmistakably teenage boys. Dean crouched, rolled one of the bodies onto its back. It was a vampire alright, but it had not died at the hands of any hunter. The face was twisted in a rictus of horror and pain, fangs exposed in a final snarl. Where its eyes should have been, were two burned out black hollows.

“What the hell happened here?”

Dean glanced up at Malcolm. “Angels.”

Fox crossed himself, muttering a prayer under his breath. Dean glanced at him. “If you think they’re gonna take notice of that—”

“Dean.” Sam laid a hand on his arm, shook his head.

Dean let out a breath and straightened up. “Well, saves us beheadin’ them, I guess.” He glanced around. "We’d better do some moppin’ up, before the rangers find this.”

Once the bodies were piled together, doused in gasoline and set alight, the hunters regrouped outside the burning hut.

“You say angels did that?” Malcolm met Dean’s gaze. “I mean, I know they’re supernatural beings, but…” A shake of his head. “That kind of power…”

“Yeah, well, most of ‘em are douches, too.” Dean replied. He glanced around. “We probably shouldn’t hang around here too long. The smoke’s gonna bring the rangers, and if there are angels around. I mean, we don’t know _which_ angels...”

“No argument from me,” Malcolm said. He glanced at Brien. “Sorry to drag you all the way out here for nothin'.”

Brien shrugged. “No matter. I didn’t mind the drive. I’m gonna head on back home, though, if you don’t need anything else?”

Malcolm nodded, shook the hunter’s hand. “Thanks for comin’ out.”

After Brien had gone, Sam, Dean, Fox and Malcolm headed back along the trail to their cars. Dean deliberately slowed his pace, laid a hand on Sam’s arm.

“What’s up?” Sam glanced at him.

“Angels,” Dean said. He looked along the path, ensuring that Malcolm was out of earshot. “I think, maybe it was Cas.”

“What?” Sam let out a breath. “Dean, I know you’re still hoping…”

“No. Listen. I heard him, last night when Malcolm and I were… when I was deep in that place Mal can send me to. Cas spoke to me, as clear as you are now. He told me he’s coming back.”

Sam’s brows drew together in a frown.

“I _heard_ him, Sam!”

“Okay.” Sam nodded. “Okay, you heard him, or maybe you heard what you wanted to hear.” Sam held his hands up when Dean opened his mouth to protest. “No. Really, okay, Dean. I believe you, and…” He glanced at the thick black smoke rising above the tree line. “ _Something_ angelic went on back there. I’ll keep an open mind, okay?”

Dean nodded and started walking again. “Hey, why don’t you drive Fox back  to the motel and I’ll ride with Malcolm.” He tossed his brother the keys and quickened his pace to catch Malcolm up, ignoring Sam’s flustered protests.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really hoping that for once, I would get a between seasons story done before the next season started. Not looking likely unless I really get inspired in the next week!
> 
> I hope you're enjoying the story, anyway. I'll be away from home without much in the way of internet access for the next 3 weeks, so I may not get to post any more of this until I get back. Sorry.
> 
> And yeah, I know I left it on a cliff hanger. Just consider this a "hellatus" ending ;)

“So, you think that coulda been _your_ angel buddy back there?” Malcolm glanced at Dean for a second before turning his gaze back to the road.

Dean sighed. “What is it with you? You got supersonic ear implants or somethin’?”

A chuckle. “No, I just know you real well. Know how you think, is all.”

“I don’t know.” Dean’s shoulders sagged a little with the admission. “I guess I’d like to hope… but it doesn’t really add up. Cas knows we’d wanna give new turned vamps a chance. Hell, he knows Sam would give _any_ vamp a pass if it agreed to feed only on animal blood, or raid the blood bank.”

 _Besides, if I thought you had done that, gone in there against eight vampires on your own without even checking in with me first? I’d kick your ass until your stupid wings fall off! Anyway, where the hell are you? You’re comin’ back? So fucking_ **get** _back already!_

Dean came out of his reverie with a start when Malcolm’s hand landed on his shoulder. “What?”

“You were kinda zoned out there. You okay?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

Malcolm frowned, but he nodded and didn’t push for any more details. “We’ll be back at the motel soon, you can get some shuteye.”

 

**~~S S S~~ **

 

Sam glanced at Fox for what felt like the twentieth time since they’d set out on the drive from the camping grounds. He let out a breath, taking in the morose expression, hunched shoulders and tense posture. “Look, this wasn’t my idea, okay? My brother railroaded me, and I have a feeling Malcolm pushed you into it, too.”

Fox clenched his jaw, saying nothing.

“No one forced you to ride with me. You could have said no.”

“So could you.” The one dark eye turned to him accusingly.

“Huh. You don’t know my brother very well.” Sam shook his head. “I’m not going to eat you, you know.”

Fox’s expression deepened into a scowl.

“Okay, so you don’t wanna talk. Whatever.” Sam focused on his driving and they were silent for a half mile.

“I saw you in dreams,” Fox murmured into the tense air. “Nightmares.”

“Sam closed his eyes for a second. “You wouldn’t be the first. Probably won’t be the last. D’you want to talk about them?”

Fox didn’t speak again for a long moment. Then. “I saw you in a room with a haggard old man in a wheelchair. He was thin…like…starvation thin.”

“Famine.” Sam cringed inwardly. He knew what was coming, but he waited.

“There were others. Men with black eyes. And then, your eyes turned black and you held up your hand like this…” Fox extended his hand and closed it into a fist. “Black smoke poured from these men and they fell dead on the floor. The… ‘famine,’ man. He swallowed the smoke. He said ‘delicious.’”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

“Was it true?” Fox looked at him. “Since the…” He gestured at his ruined eye. “Since I lost my eye, sometimes I dream and those dreams come true.”

“It’s true,” Sam said. “But that was a long time ago, and I don’t do that anymore.”

“But you killed those men.”

“They weren’t men, they were demons.”

Fox shook his head. “ _Madre de Dios!”_  he crossed himself.

“Look, I’m not whatever you think I am, okay? I’m human, just like you. That time back there? It was the damned apocalypse. I was trying to save people. I tried to do the right thing. I just…”

“Let me out.” Fox said. “Let me out, now.”

“Fox, I…”

“I want to get out of the car.”

“Alright!” Sam flashed the Impala’s headlights to signal Malcolm and pulled the car onto the verge.

Fox was out of the car and walking to Malcolm’s truck before the dust from their wheels had settled.

Sam muttered a curse and hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. He watched as Fox brushed by Dean with barely an acknowledgement.

“What did you do, Sam?” Dean climbed into the passenger seat as he spoke.

“I didn’t _do anything!_  " Sam replied. “Fox is all hung up over a dream he had about me.” He pulled the Impala back onto the highway. “Stuff that happened back when we were hunting the four horsemen.”

Dean frowned. “He wasn’t there for any of that. How could he dream about it?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know, hearsay maybe? We _did_ talk to Malcolm and Fox about stuff, or he heard it from other hunters.” He paused for a long moment. “He said that since he lost his eye, he sometimes has dreams that come true. The dream was pretty detailed. Maybe it’s like the visions and dreams I used to get.”

“He’s psychic?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, Dean. You know what? You had no right pushing us together like that. “Why would you do that?”

“I wanted to talk with Malcolm’s all.”

“Right. Well, you put both Fox and me in an awkward situation. What could you have to say to Malcolm you couldn’t say in front of Fox and me, or even wait and say later?”

“Alright, I get it.” Dean held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry I made things awkward between you two.”

Sam huffed a breath and let the matter drop. He pulled the Impala into the motel parking lot, and stopped outside the room he and Dean were _supposed_ to be sharing. “I need to shower. The stink of that place is all over me.” Without another word, he tossed Dean the keys and walked into their room, discarding clothes across the floor as he went.

 Walking into the bathroom, Sam kicked the door shut and reached to turn on the shower. A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision made him glance over his shoulder.

“What…” Sam reeled back against the bathroom door, his fingers scrabbling behind him for the doorknob as he quickly scanned the room for anything he might use as a weapon.

The tall blond guy he and Dean had met briefly outside the ranger’s hut at the camping grounds lounged against the vanity. His height and bulk seemed to occupy most of the space. Sam scowled. The guy had definitely not been there a few seconds ago. Sam would have seen him.

“Who are you, why’re you following my brother and me and why the hell are you in my bathroom?” Flushing at the realization he was buck naked, Sam grabbed a towel to wrap around his hips.

“I am not here to harm you,” the guy said. “Nor do I wish to take you as a mate.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, still frantically trying to open the door. “You haven’t answered my questions.”

“I am called Maviel.”

“You’re an angel, then.” Sam surmised by the structure of the name.

“ _Hardly_.” Maviel sneered.

“Sorry. Archangel? Seraph?”

“I outrank any heavenly being you’ve encountered.”

“I see your English has improved. What happened to the accent?”

“I have adapted.”

“Right, well, maybe you should adapt your ass out of here before I call my…” Sam finally managed to turn the doorknob and pull the door open. “Brother.”

The look of amusement that earned him wasn’t exactly what Sam had been aiming for. He backed out of the bathroom, and edged towards the duffel containing weapons.

In less than a heartbeat, Maviel stood between Sam and his goal. “Not that you possess anything that can injure me,” he said. “I prefer not to waste the time it would take for you to try.” A flick of his wrist and Sam landed squarely on his butt on the nearest bed. He found himself unable to stand.

“What do you want?”

“Your assistance.”

“You…a higher ranking being than any I’ve encountered, need _my_ assistance?” Sam shook his head. “With what, exactly?”

“I seek the abomination that walks this plane,” Maviel said. “The spawn of Lucifer.”

“The Nephilim?” Sam said. “You’ve been following us for God knows how long, and haven’t noticed we don’t have any leads?”

“You have the means to find it. You simply don’t _think_.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon! D’you really think that if Dean and I had any clue on how to find Jack, we wouldn’t have used it?”

“I don’t think this. I know it.” Maviel’s accent was creeping back.

“You’re wrong.”

“You are the vessel. The true vessel. You were possessed by Lucifer.”

“Was. I _was_ the vessel. I _was_ possessed, all past tense. All ancient history.”

“Yet, a remnant remains.”

Sam huffed a breath, struggling against the hold Maviel still exercised over him. “Look. If you want my help, there are better ways you could have gone about getting it. Let me go. You’re wasting your time here. I don’t have any clue to where Jack is. Lucifer is trapped in some alternate timeline and…”

“You have his _grace_ ,” Maviel snapped. He stepped forward, one hand extended. “I sense it!”

Sam shrank away. “Don’t touch me!” A flash of memory sparked across Sam’s mind. The pain he’d felt when Castiel attempted to extract what was left of Gadreel’s grace from his body. “Even if that’s true, I’m not letting you try to get that grace. The last time someone tried something like that, I nearly died.”

“You won’t die.” Maviel pressed his fingers to Sam’s forehead.

“NO! DEAAA….” Sam’s world went black.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta'ed and completely unedited as I am working over a somewhat spotty mobile network. Please forgive any errors, they are my fault and don't reflect on my wonderful beta reader under_a_grey_cloud.

“So, I take it Fox tore you a new one too, huh?” Dean asked as he and Malcolm watched Fox’s car peel out of the parking lot in a cloud of tire smoke and screeching wheels.

“’Bout the size of it,” Malcolm replied. “He’s headed home.”

Dean let out a breath. “Well, we tried?”

“Yeah, not the smartest move we ever came up with.”

“I need a drink,” Dean said. “Wanna join me?”

“There’s beer in the mini-bar.” Malcolm followed Dean inside. “You probably shouldn’t try fetchin’ anything stronger from your room until  Sam’s had a chance to cool off.”

Dean snagged a couple of beers from the mini-bar and tossed one to Malcolm. “He’ll be alright once he’s had a shower and a something to eat. Gets bitchy when he’s hungry, and it’s been a while since breakfast.”

“Speakin’ of…” Malcolm said. “I think we had some left over sandwiches from yesterday in the fridge.”

“I’m good, Dean said. “Stomach’s a little queasy from the mess we just cleaned up.”

Malcolm nodded, popped the lid of his beer and took a long, deep pull. “So d’you think…”

Both hunters instinctively ducked at the sound of a muffled shout, followed by a shuddering impact through the building that felt like a small explosion.

“That was Sam!” Dean ran from the room as he soke, Malcolm on his heels.

Dean pulled the Glock from the waist of his jeans as he ran. He stormed Sam’s room, weapon at the ready. “Sammy?!”

Sam groaned a response as he picked himself up from the floor. He looked dazed, but otherwise unharmed. “I’m…” Sam shook his head. “What…”

“What happened?” Dean dropped the gun on the bed and went to Sam’s side. “Are y’hurt? Did you…what blew up?”

“Um…I think that was the angel…or whatever he is.” Sam pressed two fingers to his left temple. “He...”

“Wait, back up.” Malcolm stood just inside the door. “There’s an angel here?”

“There was,” Sam replied. “Actually, I don’t even know if he _is_ an angel, he said he’s not. Said he outranks angels, archangels _and_ seraphs. He sure talked like one. Acted like one, too.” Sam swayed on his feet.

“Sit down,” Dean said. “And start from the beginning.” He handed over a pair of sweat pants he’d pulled from Sam’s bag.

Blushing a little, Sam pulled the pants on, flicking an embarrassed glance at Malcolm.

“I came in here to get showered and change my clothes,” He said. “He… he said he’s called Maviel. He appeared in the bathroom.”

“What is it with those douches? They can’t choose to appear when you’re fully clothed?”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think it matters to them. Anyway, he said we had the means of find Jack, but we’re not thinking it through…then he was going on about me being Lucifer’s vessel, and having Lucifer’s grace and…”

“You have Lucifer’s grace?” Malcolm frowned.

Sam shook  his head. “I don’t know if I still do. It’s just…when an angel possesses someone and then leaves the vessel a small piece of grace gets left behind. No one…not even Cas has ever suggested I still had any grace left from Lucifer before now.”

“So this Maviel was trying to take that grace from you?”

“I guess so. He tried to touch me. The next thing I remember I was on the floor and you ran in.”

 “Sounded like a bomb went off in here,” Malcolm said. “You sure you’re not hurt? Did he get this grace or whatever he was trying to do?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I’ve got a headache, but otherwise, I’m okay.”

“There’s no way _to_ know,” Dean said.

“Well, there’s one way,” Sam replied. “But my demon blood drinking days are long gone.”

“Malcolm looked from one to the other and then shook his head. “I’m not even gonna ask about _that.”_

“Good idea.” Dean let out a breath. “One thing’s for sure, though, we shouldn’t hang around here. What with this holy-superman or whatever he is hanging around, _and_ the fire we started in the forest…”

“I’m with you there,” Malcolm said. “Let’s saddle up and hit the road.”

Dean turned to him. “The safest place for Sam and me would be the bunker,” he said. He held Malcolm’s gaze for a long moment. “I…”

“Yeah, so you’re sayin’ this is where we part ways.” Malcolm smiled a little. “I knew it had to come.”

Sam glanced at Dean, and then looked at Malcolm. “Actually, I think I need to get some air. Might settle this headache.” He left the room without another word.

Dean sank down on the side of the bed. “Malcolm, I…”

“Dean, it’s okay. I know I can’t expect to just walk on back into your life as if those three years between us never happened.” He stepped forward, cupped Dean’s chin in one hand, tipping his face up so Dean met his eyes. “That wouldn’t be fair to you, Sam, or me. You’re always gonna be the one to call the shots, Dean. I’d like nothin’ better than to explore what we had, what we _could_ have, but I won’t push for more than you can give.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Malcolm, there’s something—some _one_ else I have to think about.”

Malcolm’s smile faded and his hand dropped away from Dean’s chin. “Yeah, I had a feelin’.”

“Cas and me, we were never…I mean it was only one or two times that we spent a night together. I don’t know. I never knew what his feelings were.”

“But _you’ve_ got some feelin’s you haven’t explored.”

Dean let out a breath, and nodded. “I didn’t even realize it until…”

“Yeah, losin’ someone can bring things up that you never really looked at before.”

“Thing is,” Dean said. “I think. No, I’m sure, Cas’s alive. I need to find him and I need to…”

“Yeah, you do.” Malcolm hunkered down in front of Dean. “You need to do a lot of thinkin’ and you need to talk to your friend. You know where my ranch is, Dean. If you get to a place where you can see clear to…” He shrugged. “Hell, even if you don’t, still swing by from time to time. Call on me if you need help with a hunt, or anythin’ else.”

Dean found he couldn’t speak through the tightness in his throat. He met and held Malcolm’s eyes for a long moment and then he nodded.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I delve into some of my own headcanon and also correct S/N's faulty Angelology with regard to the ranking system of angels. In S/N a Seraph is lower than an Archangel. 
> 
> In the Hierarchy of angels, as written by Dionysus, however, the order goes as follows:
> 
>  _The highest are the Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones, associated with the specific functions of love, knowledge, and power. In the middle are Dominations, Virtues, and Powers, associated with the universal governance of creation. And the lower hierarchy consists of Principalities, Archangels, and Angels, concerned with the direct administration of creatures in the world._  
> https://goo.gl/WuniWh
> 
> So, in _that_ hierarchy, Castiel outranks Gabriel, Raphael and Michael. He also outranks Lucifer if, indeed, Lucifer _is_ an archangel. He is not called such in the Bible. He is called "the Anointed Cherub", which would set his rank as Castiel's equal. Far more interesting IMO. 
> 
> Yes, that means Cas outranks Maviel, too. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still flying without a beta and working on a spotty mobile connection, so please forgive me if there are errors here. They are all my own, and unable to be corrected with limited bandwidth at this time.  
> I've known this chapter was coming for about three chapters past now and just wanted to _get there as fast as possible_ to quote Dean in the very first paragraph. I hope you will enjoy it

Dean pulled the Impala into the bunker garage, about two am the next morning. He was weary, heartsick and he felt feverish, as though he may be coming down with something. He climbed slowly out of the car and stretched, pushing both hands into the small of his back. A long, low groan escaped between his lips.

"I told you to take  a break hours ago," Sam groused. "I could have taken over driving."

"I just wanted to get here as fast as possible. Who knows what that Maviel dude is gonna do next?" Dean walked into the bunker as he spoke, "The car's warded, the bunker's warded. We needed to keep on the move. I mean, how did he even find us? Angels aren't supposed to be able to detect us. Not since…"

"Hello, Dean."

The gravelly voice stopped Dean in mid-stride and mid-sentence. Castiel stood by one of the small Library tables. Dean stared. His mouth dropped open for a full, breathless, speechless minute.

"Cas!" Sam broke the silence and the tension with that one word.

"Castiel!" Dean's knees buckled and he was forced to move, or land on his ass on the floor. He crossed the room, gripped the lapels of the angel's coat in both his fists and shook Cas until he heard the angel's teeth click together.

"You asshole! How long have you _been_ here? Why haven't you called? Why didn't you come to us in Arizona? Why…"

"Dean!" Sam pulled him away. "Take it easy, huh?"

Castiel bowed his head. "I didn't call because I lost my phone. I have no money to use a pay phone and the lines here are not working. I didn't come to you, because I can't _find_ you because of the sigils on your ribs." He added emphasis as he stated the exact same thing Dean had been saying. "You've always said, if we got separated on a hunt and were out of contact, I should come to the bunker and wait."

"You didn't hear my prayers? I told you every place we went!"

"I heard every one of your prayers. It wasn't until yesterday, you demanded that I come to you, and then, you told me you were on your way here."

Dean huffed impatiently. "Still the same old literal, to the letter idiot you always were. You don't just go MIA like that, Cas! You don't!"

"I was unable to come to you any sooner. I was stuck between dimensions for some time."

Sam cleared his throat. "Um...do you two need a moment?"

"Fucking yes! No! I don't know!" Dean palmed his face.

"Right." Sam shuffled his feet. "I'm gonna… unpack."

Dean nodded, twisted on his heel and headed for the kitchen. "I need a damn drink!"

"Just so you know," Castiel said. "It is physically impossible for a human to kick an angel's ass hard enough, or for long enough that its wings would fall off."

Dean growled as Sam's muffled laughter reached him from the hallway. "Well, I could die happy trying, you ass!" He grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped the lid, before downing half the bottle in one draught.

"I don't _want_ you to die." Castiel grabbed Dean and pulled him into a fierce hug. "I missed you. I tried so _hard_ to get to you sooner."

"Where _were_ you?"

"I told you, I was caught between dimensions. I'm sorry that you thought I was dead. I'm sorry that you had to see that happen...see Lucifer 'kill' me." He made air quotes with his fingers. "I had to create a diversion. I knew that Lucifer would leave you and Sam be if he thought he had hurt you."

 _"Hurt me?!_ Cas, you have no _idea!"_

"I _do_ have an idea." Castiel met Dean's eyes, his own wide, and dark with pain. "If I'd known how very deeply my death would wound you…"

"Fuck… _dammit_ , Cas!" Dean discarded the empty beer bottle and grabbed a glass, half filling it with whiskey, which he downed in one gulp.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think, Dean. I didn't realize… I wouldn't hurt you for _anything."_

"I thought you were gone!" Dean made a sound that started as a growl and ended in a stifled sob. "And then we met up with Malcolm. I…"

"I always thought, you and Sam…" Castiel frowned, searching for words.

"Sam and me, what?"

"I thought that you and he are bond mates." Castiel's gaze went distant. "I have never really had a bond mate. I've had mates, of course, and it was extremely close with Gabriel, but we never… I never…"

"Sam’n’me we are what we are, Cas."

"Then, I don't understand. if you are bonded with Sam... I…"

"It doesn’t mean I can’t feel for anyone else,"  
  
"I  know, now, what you feel for me...why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I don't know. I don't think I really understood it myself until you were gone this time." Dean let out a breath.

"I felt your agony, Dean! I felt everything. I _heard_ everything and I was trapped in the Etheric Plane and I couldn't _comfort_ you! I couldn't find a way out, I couldn't…"

Dean slammed the mug down on the table and grabbed Castiel, pulling him into a hard kiss. For a moment, Castiel stiffened, but then he melted into Dean's embrace, parting his lips for Dean's tongue.  
  
After a long moment, Dean pulled away, resting his forehead against the angel's chest. "Jesus, Cas…" 

Castiel drew a shuddering breath and pulled Dean close. "Forgive me."

"You're back. That's all that matters."

"This is...complicated."

Dean huffed a laugh. "That's a word for it." He paused a moment. "I heard you. Heard you say you were coming back. The night that Malcolm and I spent together."  
  
"Yes. I'd been trying to break through, but your mind is a noisy place. I couldn't reach you until you were quiet." Castiel released Dean and stepped back. "Human emotions are so very complex and confusing. When angels pair, that bond is absolute. There is no other who can come between them. It is...singular. They _become_ singular. I always thought it was the same with humans. My father said as much, at the Genesis. He said a man would leave his parents and cleave to his mate and the two would become one. For angels, that bond is profound, unbreakable. It's why, until recently, I had never chosen a bond mate." 

"But that's changed?"

"I was in the process of building a…" Castiel's gaze dropped to the floor and he shuffled his feet.

"What, a love nest?"

"Well, we don't call it that. It's called a bower. When a mate is chosen, an angel will spend a long time creating a bower, decorating it, incorporating a nesting space. It is a meticulous process. One must find just the right items to decorate it with, ensure that the walls are the right height, that the nest is lined, just so...it is even more important than creating a molting den."

Dean shook his head. "Right. Uh… so you've been building this… bower. Who's the lucky angel?"

"He's not an angel." More coyness and foot shuffling. "I haven't completed the final touches as yet, but I think he would like it."

Dean passed a hand across his face and his brows drew together in a frown. "I'm never gonna be able to...to be that guy for you. Sammy, he needs us to be us…"

Castiel frowned and then realization dawned on his face. "Dean. I...it's not… I have chosen Crowley."

Dean bit his lip. Did Castiel know that Crowley had given his life to seal the trap on Lucifer? If he did know, was he in denial? Dean supposed he should tell him, in case he hadn't already heard the news somehow.

"Cas, I…"

Castiel looked up then, his eyes alight with such hope that Dean couldn't bring himself to say the words. He shook his head, changed the subject. "This is all so fucking messed up. I thought, you and me..." he shrugged. "I don't know what I thought, to tell the truth."

"What are you trying to say, Dean?"

"I don't know. I thought it was good between us, when we spent those few times together."

"Yes. Those times were very pleasurable." 

"Just 'pleasurable'?"

"Dean, we are mates. That is to say, we have mated. We are brothers, comrades in arms. It is not uncommon, even among angels to mate with a brother. For solace in times of hardship or sorrow." 

"Oh. Right, a pity fuck!"

"What? No!"

"Fuck! I blew Malcolm off for a couple of pity fucks! What kinda lame ass does that make me?"

"You are not pitiful, Dean!" Castiel shook his head. "Don't you dare cheapen what we had. It was never about that. I...I gave myself to you. It was not done lightly or from any kind of condescension."

"No? From where I'm standing, I'm the one whose conjured up something deep and meaningful between us. Doesn't seem like you saw it the same way. _Solace_! How the fuck is that _supposed_ to make me feel?"

"This is my fault," Castiel said. He raised wide, pained eyes to meet Dean's gaze. "I was stupid and naive. I didn't understand, fully, what sex can mean to humans." He sighed. Dean, you shine so brightly. Your soul is so _pure._ Perhaps, I confused that with grace and I failed to see through it to your human heart." A pause. "I'm confused, Dean. A moment ago, you said you could never be the mate I need. Are you saying that you _want_  to be my bond mate?" 

"I'm sayin' I love you, and I don't know what that means."

"I love you, too."

"I get the feeling we mean different things when we say that." Dean's voice was edged with bitterness.

"It's true that your language lacks certain nuances," Castiel replied. "In other languages, Greek, for instance, there are words for different types of love."

"Yeah, spare me the linguistics. I get that you're not feeling me." 

"I don't know what you want from me."

"I want you here, and alive."

"I _am_ here and alive."

"Yeah, you are and you can't even begin to know how glad I am." Dean closed his eyes. "Cas, I.." 

"Uh...guys?" Sam rapped on the kitchen door frame. "Sorry to butt in, but I'm getting hungry. Mind if I grab a sandwich or something?"

Castiel turned to look at Sam. "Of course." He turned back to Dean. "I have my powers back," he said. "And my wings are completely healed. I had time to molt in the Etheric Plane. I can be truly useful again."

Dean shook his head. "Y'know, the idea of an angel dropping black feathers all over the place makes my head hurt."

"It _is_ a large concept for a human to grasp."

Sam passed Castiel on his way to the table with bread, peanut butter, and a jar of jelly. He awkwardly shifted the bundle of ingredients to pat Castiel on the shoulder. "Glad to hear you're all powered up."

Castiel acknowledged Sam with a bob of his head. He spoke to Dean. "You really have no concept of my true form. Although some humans have glimpsed angels who were not envesseled, you've never had that opportunity." 

"I'll  pass, thanks. The whole eyes burned out of their sockets thing doesn't do it for me."

Castiel greeted that with a faint smile. "Some humans have seen us and not lost their eyes, but it requires special circumstances. The apostle John is one example. You have to be taken up in spirit into the Etheric Plane. Yet, even John had difficulty describing the things he saw. His descriptions are confusing to say the least, and in many cases, entirely inaccurate. He has noted feather patterns, rather than the actual form."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, I get the gist. Molting angels don't look like featherless thanksgiving turkeys." 

"Much closer to what humans call Griffins." 

"Griffins?" Sam paused with a sandwich halfway to his mouth. "They're real? Like the whole beak and…" 

"Beak, and feathers and claws and tail." Castiel looked like he might start to preen at any moment. "We're really quite extraordinary!"

Sam shook his head, uttering a muffled, "Awesome," through a mouthful of PB&J.

Castiel eyed the sandwich wistfully for a moment before he went on. "And archangels. They are...well, it's difficult to describe them in terms you would understand. Gabriel is truly splendid! But enough of that. What's been happening while I was gone?"

The brothers exchanged a glance, a silent exchange about what, if anything Cas might know about what happened on the other side of the rift. Dean shook his head and turned to Castiel.

"Vampires. Vampires have been happening."

"Yes, you mentioned that you were hunting them, in your prayers."

 "Yeah, and the whole thing was a mess."

 "What happened?"

"We were after a nest in Arizona, they'd turned a couple of kids and we were going to try and cure them, but something got to them before we did."

 "Something?"

 "Angels," Sam said. "Or _an_ angel."

 "But, heaven is still closed. I thought all of the rogue angels had been found."

 "Well, this one is still on the loose. He told me his name is Maviel."

Castiel's eyes went wide with alarm. He stepped closer to Sam. "Maviel. Are you _certain_ that is his name?"

"He told me he's some kind of high ranking being. Higher than anything we've met. And yeah, he definitely said Maviel. He introduced himself to me when I was about to get into the shower."

 "If this is true, you're fortunate to have survived an encounter with him. He's not an angel. He's a Holy Virtue."

"I almost didn't survive," Sam says grimly. "He was going on about me having Lucifer's grace. He tried to touch me and something happened. I was knocked out."

 Castiel looked around nervously as though half expecting an attack. "Virtues almost never leave heaven and when they do, it always ends in destruction. They were last on Earth at the fall of Babylon."

 "Awesome!" Dean rolled his eyes. "Another fucking apocalyptic asshole  set on destroying Earth. Can't Chuck keep these douches on a leash?"

 "My father probably sent him, in search of the Nephilim. Virtues cannot fall. They are incapable of disobedience. A kind of heavenly fail-safe. Father created them after the fall of Lucifer."

"So he's the Terminator." Dean shook his head. "Just fucking great. Send a loose cannon in pursuit of another loose cannon, and oh, just for kicks, either one of them has enough juice to annihilate the friggin' universe! "

 "So, what do we do?" Sam asked. "He told me that we have nothing that could kill him."

"But there's gotta be something, right?" Dean looked at Castiel. "Something that could slow him down?"

 Castiel shook his head. "You probably _don't_  possess anything powerful enough." He frowned in thought. "But perhaps we don't need to kill him, _or_ slow him down."

"What do you mean?" 

"We could propose an alliance." Castiel looked from Dean to Sam and back. "After all, we're all seeking the same thing."


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A relatively brief chapter this time, but I think it advances the plot. (what plot?) without getting too tangled up with the Canon arc as yet. I'm trying to keep my storyline clear, but as usually happens, I will probably borrow from canon where elements seem to fit.
> 
> I'm still in the land of no broadband, so again, I'm flying without a beta.
> 
> As a point of interest, there are recorded cases of otherwise healthy people 'dying from fright' when the system is hit by a massive surge of adrenaline for unexplained reasons.

"I can't find him."

Dean pulled his head out from under the Impala's hood. He reached for a rag and wiped grease from his hands as he flicked Castiel an uneasy glance. He didn't need to ask who Castiel was referring to.

"Can't find, who?" Dean stalled for time.

"Crowley." Castiel's brows knitted in a frown, "I searched hell. I went to his villa in Venice. I even went to heaven's gate. He hasn't returned any of my calls. He…"

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, and let out a long, slow breath. "Cas… Crowley. He…"

"What?"

"He really helped us out with the whole 'trap Lucifer' deal, you know? He was… He…"

"Tell me."

"There was a spell he helped us with, to seal the portal. Crowley had the ingredients, he knew the words, and… One of the ingredients was… it needed a life."  
  
Castiel was still as stone, silent. His blue eyes went wide. He stared at Dean.

"He…" Dean falters, bites his lower lip. "I'm sorry, Cas. Crowley was the final ingredient. He's dead."

"No."

"I'm sorry…" Dean knew how lame those words sounded. He knew how empty it felt to hear them.

"No, you're mistaken, it was a trick. He… you're… you _liar_!" That last word emerged as a roar of anguish and rage. Castiel lunged at Dean, both hands striking at Dean's chest, fingers curled like talons, his eyes flashed blue and gold with wrath. " _Liar_!"

Dean was knocked off his feet, skidded across the floor, smacked his head against the Impala's fender. Lights exploded behind his eyes. Pain blossomed across the back of his head. Dazed, Dean lifted a hand to touch the point of impact.  
  
Castiel vanished in a rush of wings.

Cursing softly, rubbing at his head, Dean pulled himself to his feet.

"What's going on?" Sam came into the garage. "I heard shouting. Dean? Are you okay?" He was at Dean's side. Sam pulled Dean's hand away from the growing lump. "Shit. You need an ice-pack. What happened?"

"I told Cas about Crowley." Dean let his brother lead him from the garage. "He--uh he didn't take it well."

"He hit you?"

"He shoved me, but he packs some mojo these days. Wait! The car! If he's damaged Baby…" Dean half turned towards the garage, but Sam held him back..

"The car can wait. You need ice on that lump, and I wanna monitor you for concussion."

Dean growled, but the dull ache growing in the back of his head, told him Sam was right. "I'm fine," he grumbled, but didn't resist as Sam pulled him into the kitchen and grabbed ice from the freezer.

\--

Hours later, when Sam finally decided that Dean was in no danger of falling into a coma, Dean lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The sleep Sam had denied to him for hours, eluded him still.

Castiel had not returned since bowling Dean over and flying out of the garage. Dean had prayed, told the angel it was okay, that he wasn't gonna hold a grudge. He'd reminded Cas that he knew what it felt like to hear that someone you cared about was gone. There had been no answer.

Dean sighed. He rolled over, sat up. His head throbbed dully. He pressed the heel of his hand against the lump, reached for his phone. He stared at the screen for a long moment, gnawing on his bottom lip and then he thumbed the contacts icon and scrolled until he found the number.

"Hello?" A voice rusty with sleep came over the line.

Dean closed his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

"Dean. I know it's you, your name comes up on the screen."

"I…" Dean began and then he faltered. He drew a shaking breath. "Sorry, this was a mistake." His thumb slid across the screen, hovered over the red end call icon.

"Dean!" Malcolm said. "Don't hang up. Talk to me, boy."

"I don't know what to say. I don't even know why I called."

"Did you find your friend?"

"Cas...yeah. He was here when we got back."

A beat.

"What happened? Did you talk to him?"

"Yeah. We talked. I made an ass of myself." Dean breathed a bitter laugh. "He knocked me on my ass and now he's gone."

"He hit you, for declarin' your feelin's?"

"Not exactly." Dean shook his head and passed a hand across his forehead. "That was later. No, he just told me that he loves someone else."

"Damn."

"Yeah, what goes around, huh?"

"No, I didn't mean that...I just… I know how that feels,"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It is what it is, Dean."

"So anyway, what happened between Cas and me? He more or less told me it was outta pity. Or Solace, or...I dunno. It wasn't what I thought it was."

"So, then he hit you? How'd that happen."

"I told him the… I told him the guy he loves is dead. It seemed like the right thing to do."

"Take it that went over a little flat, huh?"

Dean chuckled. He winced, pressed his hand to the back of his head. He didn't answer. He closed his eyes, he counted to fifteen, he held his breath. He told himself the prickling sensation behind his eyelids was lack of sleep.

"I miss you, Dean."

"Yeah."

"If you need…"

"I--uh--I gotta go." Dean didn't hesitate this time. He thumbed the red telephone icon and put the phone on his bedside table. He laid down and stared through the darkness at the ceiling. "Fuck."

\--

Sam was sitting in front of his laptop at the kitchen table when Dean shuffled into the kitchen the next morning.  

"Coffee's hot," Sam said. "I was going to come check on you soon. Thought you were gonna sleep til noon."

"I wasn't sleeping." Dean went to the stove, poured himself a mug of coffee. "Cas been back?"

"Nope." Sam picked up a slice of toast that looked like it was made from parakeet food and bit into it.

"I don't know how you can eat that. Couldn't you at least put butter on it?"

"It doesn't need butter," Sam said through a mouthful of seeds and toast crumbs. "Spoils the flavor. It wouldn't hurt you to eat half a gram of fiber."

"I'm good." Dean held up his coffee in a silent toast and straddled a chair. "Anything on the wires?" He nodded at the laptop.

"Here's a thing," Sam replied. He turned the laptop to face Dean. "Unexplained death…"

Leaning closer, Dean read the brief news item. He sipped his coffee, frowned, shot Sam a glance. "Woman found dead in motel shower…" He snorted. "Have they arrested Norman Bates?"

"Funny." Sam rolled his eyes. "No arrests, the coroner's ruling it death by misadventure." Sam snagged another piece of toast. "Twenty-seven years old, healthy, never had any problems with her heart, good blood pressure. She was an athlete in college…"

"So, this is us, how?" People drop dead, Sam. Even young, healthy people."  
Sam shook his head. "They're saying she died of fright. In the shower?"

"Arachnophobia?" Dean shrugged. "Brown recluse comes up the overflow. That's even made me jump once or twice.

"Dean, can you be serious for one second? I think this is worth a look. It happened in the last couple of days, while we were on the way back from Arizona. You told me to keep a lookout for anything weird. I think this is weird. What could scare a young healthy woman so badly that she literally dropped dead of an adrenaline overload?"

"Alright." Dean held up a hand in surrender. "We'll check it out."

Sam nodded. He slapped the lid of the laptop closed, stuffed the last corner of toast into his mouth, and headed for the shower. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the boys are headed back to Sioux Falls, where they met Malcolm right back at the beginning of this story. Could this lead to another encouter with the dommy Vamp hunter? ;)
> 
> Is this the end of Batfink... and Karate? 
> 
> I am so sad that Crowley never called them those names in the show. I must have him do it in a fic! Moose and Squirrel is cute, but if we're going to riff from pop culture cartoons, and call Sam and Dean Moose and Squirrel, or the Dynamic Duo? Why NOT Batfink and Karate, Pinky and the Brain Calvin and... okay, okay! I am off on a tangent. I had too much caffeine and not enough sleep.
> 
> On with the story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever to my beta, under_a_gray_cloud

“Another dead end,” Dean groused as he stomped his way through the Library. He headed into the kitchen and snatched a beer from the fridge.

“So, we still needed to check it out,” Sam said. He glanced at the bottle in Dean’s hand with a frown. “It’s not even ten o’clock, Dean.”

“It’s beer o’clock somewhere.” Dean popped the lid and took a long pull of the beer. “Y’know we might have half a goddamned chance at finding Jack if…” He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “ _Castiel would get his ass down here, or up here, from wherever he’s at!”_

“I’ve been looking for Jack, and for Maviel.” Castiel spoke from just behind Dean’s left shoulder, causing the hunter to almost choke on another mouthful of beer.

Dean rounded on him. “You know better than  to _do that!”_

“I do.” Castiel managed to look smug. “But it’s a useful tactic when you’re being an ass-butt.”

“Oh, great, so now he’s got a sense of _humor_.” Dean drained the beer and headed for the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower and sleep, in that order and I’ll gank the first person who disturbs me before I’ve had four hours.”

Sam sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. He slumped into a chair at the table.

“He won’t really gank either of us,” Castiel said. “He told me I’m not permitted to die again, and I know he would not harm you, Sam.”

Sam snorted. “Don’t bet on it. The mood he’s in lately…”

“Is he… angry with me? Last time I saw him we argued. I…struck him.”

“He’s mad at everyone right now,” Sam said “It’s…”

Sam’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he reached for it. “Jody,” he said as he thumbed the answer bar.

 _Hey,  Sam. I’ve got a… thing,”_ Jody said over the line. _I think you boys need to come out here and take a look._

Five minutes later, Sam knocked on Dean’s bedroom door.

“Sammy, I warned you I’d…”

Sam cut across Dean’s grousing. “Jody called. She wants us to check out a case she’s working on.”

Dean grumbled, but he rolled over and sat up on the bed. “Any details?”

“She didn’t go into it too much. One dead. A local psychic, but she wanted our input.”

“Aright. Gimme ten minutes.”

Sam nodded and headed back to the kitchen. He found Castiel standing much as he’d left him. Relaxed, but stiff in that unique way Castiel had. The angel glanced at Sam, frowning. He didn’t speak.

“Somethin’ up?” Sam raised his eyebrows in query.

“I’m… not sure.” One eye narrowed slightly as he spoke, and Castiel tipped his head to the side. His ‘Angel Radio’ pose, as Dean called it.

Sam watched him, waiting.

“Someone’s…” Castiel began and then he cried out in agony, doubled over, clutching at his head.

“Cas!” Sam rushed to the angel’s side. “Cas, what’s happening?”

“Stop!” Cas rasped between gritted teeth. “Slow down! You’re too loud!” He dropped to his knees on the floor. “Please!”

“Cas?” Dean ran into the room and hunkered down next to the angel. “Cas, talk to me what’s happening?”

“I…c-can’t.” Castiel ground out between clenched teeth. “He’s too loud.”

“Who? Who’s too loud?” Dean gripped Cas’s arm, supporting him as the angel pitched forward and vomited onto the floor. Something neither Dean, nor Sam had ever seen Castiel do. At least not when he was powered up. Dean looked up, meeting Sam’s eyes, his own dark with worry.

Castiel groaned, wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat and slowly moved to sit on the floor. He relaxed a little. “It stopped,” he said.

“Who was it? What did they say?” Dean pushed his hand through Castiel’s hair, smoothing the dark curls back from his forehead.

“It…I think. I think it was Jack. He was calling out to me. He….” Castiel closed his eyes. “He said he is lost. Scared.”

“Do… do you need anything?” Sam shuffled his feet. “A glass of water?”

“I don’t dr…” Castiel began, but then he nodded. “Yes. Water.”

Sam filled a glass at the sink and brought it to Castiel who accepted it with a nod of thanks, downing the contents in three large gulps. He handed the empty glass back.

Dean let out a breath. “Did Jack give you any clues about where he is?”

“Jasper Wyoming.” Castiel scrambled to his feet. “I must…I have to go to him.”

“W-wait!” Dean made a grab for Castiel’s arm, but his fingers closed around empty space. “Dammit!”

Sam waited a beat, glancing around, expecting the angel to reappear any moment. When he didn’t, Sam huffed a breath, cleared his throat. “Uh. Dean? We have to get to Sioux Falls…Jody…”

Dean shook himself squared his shoulders, nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, right, okay.” With one final glance around the kitchen, he headed towards the garage. “So, did Jody give you _anything?”_

“Just that a psychic in the town turned up dead and it looks supernatural.”

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N This chapter hints at suicidal ideation. Tread cautiously if you might be triggered.
> 
> Also for the BDSM purists, there is a borderline infringement of SSC here, in that a sub should not be left bound, unattended. However Dean is not actually bound, and Sam is in the same room, albeit asleep. 
> 
> I'm this universe's Chuck, and I can assure you, Dean won't suffer any harm from the very very light "bondage" here.
> 
> Also, I'm flying unbetaed in this chapter, so please lay blame for all errors at my feet.

Dean white-knuckled the steering wheel as the Impala roared along the interstate. He glanced across at Sam who slumped against the window, half asleep. “I don’t know how you can sleep at a time like this!” Dean turned his eyes to the road, shook his head in disbelief.

  
Sam pulled himself upright. “Well, I tried talking,” he sniped back. “You didn’t seem interested. So you want a heart to heart now, or just someone to lay into?”

  
Dean scowled. “I don’t believe any of this.”

  
“Oh, so it’s talk, then.” Sam passed a hand across his face. “What don’t you believe? That Wraiths are still a thing? That people are still dying from your plain old run of the mill freaks…that Castiel might possibly agree with me for once and Jack’s worth saving?”

  
“Shut up!”

  
Sam scoffed. “Okay. D’you mind if I get a little sleep while I’m shutting up?”

  
“Funny. Asshole.” Dean scowled. “I mean I don’t believe Missouri would just give herself up like that, like…bait.”

  
Sam outright laughed at that. “You Don’t believe she’d do that? After all the times that you and me both have done exactly that for family?”

  
Dean had to concede the point, though it rankled. He shrugged. Let out a breath. “I called Garth,” he said after a moment. “Asked him to get the word out around the community. Let people know about the funeral. At least her family were okay about having her cremated.”

  
“James said it was in her will,” Sam replied.

  
“Right. Like he’d care.”

  
“Dean! That’s not really fair. We don’t know his life. We don’t know what it was like for him.”

  
“We’ve got an idea of what kinda parent she woulda been.” Dean passed a palm across his mouth, his mind flicking back to childhood memories of times spent with Missouri while John was off hunting Azazel. “She was always good to us.”

  
“It’s not the same, Dean. She wasn’t our mother.”

  
Silence fell for the next couple miles. Dean tried to breathe through the drowning sensation.

  
He’d thought—kidded himself—maybe, that when Cas came back, everything would be okay. That it was just the absence of the angel that had him off kilter. It had been better, for all of maybe five minutes. Until Castiel made it plain that whatever had passed between him and Dean in the past was less than what Dean’s mind had conjured during those dark days of loss and grief.

  
Now, Dean was bereft all over again, and the sudden loss of a woman whose presence had, no matter what Sam said, been as close to a mother as they’d ever known had plunged him right back into those dark depths of nothing. Dean closed his eyes for a moment.

  
Maybe the big empty wouldn’t be so bad, compared to this. Maybe it’s just forgetting. Maybe it’s just sleep and rest and a whole lot of fuck the hell all. I could handle that.

  
He opened his eyes with a start when Sam’s hand landed on his shoulder.

  
“You wanna pull over? I’ll take a turn at the wheel.”

  
“I’m good.”

  
“Yeah, if you call good almost running us into a ditch. Stop the car!”

  
Dean glared at his brother, but the determined set of Sam’s jaw told him he wasn’t going to win this one. He lifted his foot off the gas and steered Baby onto the verge. “We’re only a few miles out of Omaha,” he grumbled, but he climbed out and let Sam get behind the wheel.

  
“Get some rest,” Sam said as he pulled back onto the road.

  
Dean didn’t think that was gonna happen, but there was a time and a place to battle Sam, and this wasn’t it. He shuffled down against the passenger door, pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and put them on.

  
Dean stared through the tinted lenses, unblinking for mile upon mile as the scenery drifted by in a unending scroll of fields, crossroads, gas stations and nothingness. The familiar backdrop to a life on the road. A soft counterpoint to the thrumming notes of pain in his chest. He pulled in what felt like another lungful of water and wished he could just hurry up and drown.  
  
\----

  
Malcolm Quinn tossed on a too lumpy mattress in a too cheap motel room somewhere outside Victoria Springs Nebraska. He’d just come off a miserable three day hunt in pouring rain and freezing cold and if the way his back and knees were bitching at him were any indication, he ougt to have quit this line of work five years ago.

  
“Shouldn’t have ever got into it, to begin with.” He punched his pillow, flung himself onto his stomach and closed his eyes for the tenth time since going to bed.

  
It was almost a relief when the phone buzzed on his bedside table. He reached for it, fumbling in the darkness and squinted at the screen.

  
His heart began to race as he tapped the answer bar and put the phone to his ear. “Dean…”

  
“Hey. Yeah, it’s me.” The voice was rough, weary. Malcolm could almost feel Dean’s tiredness across the line.

  
“Are you okay?”

  
Silence.

  
“Dean?”

  
“Listen,” Dean rasped over the connection. “There’s been a death in the community. We’re putting the word out. I told Garth I’d let you know.”

  
Malcolm whispered a curse. “Who?”

  
“Mi…Missouri Mosely. Damned Wraith got her.”

  
“I’m sorry, Dean. I remember you tellin’ me about her. You were close.”

  
“Close. Yeah.” Dean huffed a breath over the line. “Anyway, there’s a memorial for her. The family said to invite anyone who might care to come.”

  
Malcolm sighed, sensing the volumes left unspoken in the weary rasp of Dean’s words. “Is Sam there with you? Are you…”

  
“I’m fine. Sam’s sleepin’, Jody’s in the next room, Cas is…somewhere around the country…”

  
But you’re anything but fine, boy, Malcolm thought. “So, this memorial? Where is it being held?”

  
“Omaha, Georgia.”

  
“I’m not far away,” Malcolm said. “But if you’d prefer I didn’t…”

  
“No. No, come,” Dean cut in. “I… I think we should…”

  
“You sound done in, boy.”

There was silence on the line, but for the faintest whisper of a shaky breath.

  
“Where are you?”

  
“I’m sitting in the car. I didn’t want to disturb Sam.”

  
Malcolm shook his head. “If the weather’s anythin’ like it is here, you must be freezin’ your butt off! Get yourself inside, boy, and take a hot shower. Text me your twenty. I’m only a few hours away. Now you listen and you listen good.”

  
“I’m listening.”

  
“I know you’ll have your weapons bag with you, and I know you carry ropes. After you shower I want you to take a length of that rope and get into bed. Now I don’t want you tyin’ anything tight, but you wrap the rope around your wrists and you wait for me, y’hear?”

  
“Yes. Yessir.”

  
“Just keep it loose and be sure you ain’t gonna get yourself tangled or hurt if you fall asleep. Understand?”

  
“I’ll be sure.”

  
“Good. I’ll see you in a little while, Dean.” Malcolm ended the call and tossed the phone aside as he climbed out of bed.  
  
\----  
  
Sitting in the Impala outside the main street motel in Omaha, Dean Winchester stared at the screen of his phone for a long moment. Then, he glanced at the large knife he held in his right hand, turning it so that the blade caught the light from the soda lamps overhead. He let out a shaking breath and leaned to slide the knife under the seat.

  
He breathed in against the suffocating anxiety and turned his head, looking towards the room he and Sam had booked a day ago. Sam slept behind that closed door, oblivious to how close Dean had come to stepping into the big empty.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we come to the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we come to the end. although, it's really a beginning for Dean and Malcolm and Sam.  
> Just in time, too because tomorrow marks the beginning of a new adventure to me as I commence my bachelor Program  
> I don't know when I will have time to write more of this pairing, I don't know if I even will unless people specifically ask for them  
> it has been hard work writing this and trying to tie up all the loose ends and I know I am bound to have missed some.  
> I hope you have enjoyed the journey.  
> Please leave me a teeny tiny comment if you did!

It was close to dawn by the time Malcolm Quinn arrived in Omaha. He found the hotel Dean had texted to him and pulled his SUV into the parking lot, parked up next to the Impala. Malcolm cut the engine and stared at the room number Dean had given him for a long moment. He’d lost count of all the times he’d wished Dean would call him in the past three weeks. He guessed it must be in the low hundreds by now. A day hadn’t gone by without those lost green eyes showing up in his mind, or an echo of that gruff, ‘I’m okay,’ voice whispering in Malcolm’s memory.

He drew in a long breath and climbed out of his truck, crossed the veranda and tapped on the door in their familiar, rapid, 3, 2, 1, pattern before he tested the handle. The door gave and opened easily. Malcolm was glad to feel the crunch of rock salt under his boots as he stepped inside. He didn’t need to ask, to know that the walls would be festooned in sigils traced with holy water. His boy was hurting, but he wasn’t careless with it.

Out of long habit, Malcolm scanned the dimly lit room. He could just make out the top of Sam’s tousled, dirty-blonde hair poking out from a nest of blankets on one of the king single beds. On the other, Dean lay prone, a sheet draped across his lower back, and the rope across his shoulders just the way Malcolm had ordered it.

Drowsy, sorrowful green eyes flecked with gold watched Malcolm steadily. Dean didn’t move. He murmured, “Sir.”

The bone weariness in that one word made Malcolm’s heart ache. He nodded. “Dean.” He closed the door, crossed the room and sat on the edge of Dean’s bed. Slowly, as though gentling a spooked colt, Malcolm laid one hand between Dean’s shoulders.

The hunter flinched at the touch.

“Shh.” Malcolm applied gentle pressure between Dean’s shoulder blades, his palm covering the rope. “Shh, sweetheart. I got you.”

Dean’s eyes slid closed and a silent, wracking sob shook him.

“You haven’t been taking proper care of yourself, Dean.” Malcolm rubbed a circle between the man’s shoulders. He shook his head at an impatient huff of breath from Dean. “What was the one rule we had about proper rest?”

“Six hours, minimum.”

“Right.” Malcolm glanced at the other bed when Sam grunted in his sleep and turned over, fidgeting a moment with the covers and rearranging his long legs. “When was the last time you slept? And, why are you pushin’ Sam away?”

“Lucifer doesn’t sleep. We’ve been on his trail. Sammy was bitchin’ too much. I sent him to bed right after dinner.”

“Bitchin’? Or tryin’ to get some common sense through that thick head of yours?”

Dean shivered. “He was trying to convince me not to kill Lucifer’s kid, to eat kale, to drink less coffee and whiskey, talk to Cas…just a two and a half hour bitch session.”

“Huh.” Malcolm landed a light slap on Dean’s butt, causing the hunter to start violently. “Turn over, I want you to look me in the eye.”

Dean rolled onto his back, but he kept his eyes averted.

Malcolm studied the patina of bruising, probably inflicted during the fight with the wraith. He sighed, his eyes tracing over new, healing cuts. He let his hand follow his eyes. Light fingertips grazing a deeper looking one, crudely stitched. “Sam sew this up?”

“No.” Dean glanced at Malcolm and away. “He doesn’t know about…”

“He knows.” Malcolm growled. “That boy understands you better than anyone, Dean. He’d recognize when you’re doing this to yourself, even if he don’t mention it.”

“I’m tired, sir.” Dean heaved a breath that seemed to cost him a great effort. “I… before I called you, I was. That call was gonna be the last one I ever made.” Heavy lids, lashes wet with un-shed tears fell over those tormented eyes. “I wanted… was going to…” A tear slid across Dean’s cheek to land on the pillow by his left ear.

Malcolm growled. He ran a hand across Dean’s chest. “You don’t get to decide when to hurt this body, Boy. Y’hear me?” He glanced at the other bed as a something like a whimper emerged from under the covers. Malcolm shook his head slightly, wondering if Sam heard Dean’s suicidal talk. He turned his attention back to Dean.

“You do not have permission to hurt yourself.” He raked his nails along Dean’s ribs. Eliciting a hiss of pain when his fingers pressed over a bruise. “I, on the other hand…”

Sam gave a cough and pushed up on his elbows. He blinked owlishly at Malcolm for a moment, and then scrambled out of his bed. “Malcolm...hey.” He stood for a moment, swaying on his feet, clad only in boxer shorts and a faded army surplus t-shirt. He glanced at Dean, and scurried into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “Still skittish, that boy.”

“He gets nervous when you hurt me.”

“But it’s what you need,” Malcolm said. He curled his fingers against the bruise again.

“We all kn...know that.” Dean grunted, flinching away from the uncomfortable touch.  “Sam just doesn't like it.”

Sam re-emerged dressed in sweats and the same shirt. “I'm gonna...uh... Make a coffee run.” He snatched the keys to the Impala off the table and bolted.

Once the door closed behind Sam, Malcolm released a long breath. “Sit up, Dean. I need to t’talk to you.”

With a wary look, Dean nodded and pushed himself into a sitting position against the headboard. He regarded Malcolm for a moment and then lowered his gaze.

Malcolm took hold of  Dean’s hand.  “You’re too valuable to all of us, Dean, to think of killin’ yourself.”

Dean closed his eyes. “I know.”

“Do you?” Malcolm Tightened his grip as his thumb stroked the inside of Dean’s wrist.

“I just... I can't breathe, I can't think. I feel like...” Dean’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It's too much, Malcolm. The weight of it. I... I'm drowning.”

“I can help you, if you’ll have me. But we need to make sure that it’s all right with Sam because I know both of you, Dean. My memory of the time we were a—a family—is back and I need Sam to be on board.” Malcolm studied Dean, unconsciously holding his breath, waiting for another rejection. He would never say it aloud, but he knew if Dean turned him away this time, he’d never ask again. He’d walk away, and he’d try to forget the green-eyed hunter and the hold Dean had over his heart. He’d have to, because a part of him knew that his heart would never withstand being rejected a fourth time.

Dean sighed. “We'll have to talk to him. But I think he'll agree. I know he worries.  l know that's where his bitchin' is coming from. I  need help, Malcolm! I know it's gonna put you in danger and that scares me to death, but... If somethin’ doesn't give soon, I'm just gonna… this last hunt, the wraith? It almost took me down and I... I was okay with the idea.”

“I know the risks, Dean and I understand you lit out thinkin’ you were gonna save me by removing yourself from my life, but that’s not what happened. I kept huntin’ I kept on fightin’. All you managed to do was give me nothin to come home to.”

Dean swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

Malcolm leaned in and caught Dean’s lips in a brief kiss. When he drew back he met and held Dean’s gaze. “Right now, what we both need is sleep. Then we’ll pay our respects to your friend Missouri and all three of us are going back to the ranch.” He brushed a tear from Dean’s cheek. “It’s not about how far we had to fall. It’s where we land.”

  _~END~_

* * *

 

 _So you can keep me_  
_Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans_  
_Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet_  
_You won't ever be alone,_  
_wait for me to come home_  
_And if you hurt me_  
_That's okay baby, only words bleed_  
_Inside these pages you just hold me_  
_And I won't ever let you go_  
_Wait for me to come home_  
Photograph - Ed Sheeran

 

 _Falling slowly  
__eyes that know me  
__and I can't go back_  
_Moods that take me_  
_And erase me_  
_And I'm painted black_  
_You have suffered enough_  
_And warred with yourself_  
_It's time that you won_  
  
_Take this sinking boat and point it home_  
_We've still got time_  
_Raise your hopeful voice_  
_you had a choice_  
_You've made it now_  
Falling Slowly - Markéta Irglová

Sound Track:

[Where We Land - Ed Sheeran](https://youtu.be/zDJwTI224JU)

[Photograph - Ed Sheeran](https://youtu.be/tgROqtFXwYY)

[Falling Slowly" - Markéta Irglová](https://youtu.be/4fj9ZoUr1XA)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! I write faster when you do!


End file.
